


The True and the Brave

by strive2bhappy



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strive2bhappy/pseuds/strive2bhappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of knights, castles, lords, prophecies and the threat of war between the kingdoms, Jensen the True has lived a remarkably sheltered life. Gifted with the ability to scry truth through touch, Jensen isolated himself from people not only because his “gift” brought him discomfort but because he was used only as a weapon by the current lord. Jensen’s world is turned upside down when a young knight named Jared comes to Greenbriar Manor and changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The True and the Brave

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: this fic. *laughs hysterically* seriously. this fic. *laughs like a lunatic* i have NO IDEA what possessed me to do a medieval fic and attempt to be as authentic as i could, but here we are. at the 11th hour, with most of my hair pulled out. i have no idea what some of this even is. no joke. i cranked the last, maybe 7,000 words out in like a ridiculously little amount of time, so wow. i'm a little dizzy. wooh.
> 
> here's the deal, though. i didn't do this alone. the encouragement i had was like on par with, i don't even know what because i'm not sure i'm capable of any more descriptive words, but the encouragement was EPIC.
> 
> first, okay, there's this awesome gal named inanna_maat who i did not know before this big bang, but i am SO GLAD I MET HER BECAUSE HER ART IS SUBLIME. her talents are out of this world and you need to check out her art post because this story really comes to life with it. i mean look at that banner up there!!! how gorgeous is that???? inanna_maat really is the sweetest of the sweet and she had so much incredible PATIENCE with me, it was unreal. she also does a mean stage dance as i understand. hee!!! check out her art page if you haven't already. soooo pretty!!!! http://inanna-maat.livejournal.com/100806.html
> 
> then there was this soul made of pure light and love. her name is afattribble. when i come to her in a panic, in a word-vomit induced "oh my god will you please beta this piece of crap for me even though it will likely make you puke your guts out" she not only agrees, she does it with so much support and so much love that it actually makes my chest ache. it's true. all of it. she's smart and adorable and capable of talking me off ledges and just. guh. she's everything. she made this thing better and please believe me when i say, all remaining mistakes are purely my own. i love you, bb. so, so much.
> 
> early on in this livejournal foray, i met a person who's name truly represents who she is. my big_heart_june. very near the posting date, i messaged her and told her of my fears and worries and spazzed out on her and despite other pressing issues she had, she helped me through, encouraged me to keep going and told me the story was worth it. june, my love, you make livejournal a better place and there have been no truer words than that. i mean that sincerely with all my heart.
> 
> i leave for the last the real reason i am here. she encouraged me not only to do this and keep doing this (really, you should see the list of fics she would like me to complete) but she helped me actually make and get this journal. my real life bestie, my altruisticinteg. this woman listened, practically on a daily basis to me whine and complain and drag my feet and insist this story was drivel and while on occasion she would give me the jensen ackles sarcasm stare of death (TM) she never once was mean about it. she supports me EVERY DAY and sometimes i don't know how she does it. i really am quite a trial. but her loyalty is as big as the universe and i am incredibly lucky to know even a piece of it.
> 
> finally, major kudos and thanks, as always, to wendy and thehighwaywoman for running this challenge every year. i have no idea how they keep everything straight. all we have to do is write. they have to tag and code and compile and encourage and make sure everything's done and just...wow. amazing.
> 
> at any rate, i hope you all enjoy this trip into medieval times...

By the time the sun has fully risen over the Eastern-most wall of the village, the bailey practically thrums with excitement. Jensen can feel it like a pulse in his veins.

Part of him wishes he could participate in the charged atmosphere, but he knows what today is and what it means.

Lord Heyerdahl had spread word through as many kingdoms as his messengers could reach in a fortnight, calling for strong, noble men to enhance his stock of knights in the castle.

Today, the gathering and subsequent appointment would happen.

And Jensen's skills would be required.

He sighs heavily as Apollo butts up against him, searching for more grain. He swears the horse is more hog than equine. "You'd consume the entire stock in one sitting and then where would we be, hmm?" he asks.

Apollo snuffles and Jensen lays a hand under the horse's strong jaw, closing his eyes for a moment, the primitive animal sense of loyalty and love shimmer through him. Apollo huffs deeply, nudges again and if asked, Jensen would swear there was irritation mixed in there.

He chuckles, "You're becoming alarming predictable, my friend. You've had your fill. No more for today. You'll be grazing all afternoon as it is."

Apollo's ears twitch with more than just Jensen's words and it's the only sign he has that they are no longer alone in the stable.

"I would be insulted that you speak more to the animals than you do me, if I hadn't known you all my life."

Misha the Meddler, as Jensen likes to call him in his mind, could try the patience of a saint -- and Jensen is far from such a holy being. Most days he welcomes the distractions of his friend's soliloquies and farfetched delusions, but with the knight selection looming, Jensen doubts he has the fortitude for one of Misha's ramblings. "It's the animals who would feel the insult if the situation were reversed, I assure you," Jensen quips.

"You assure me?" Misha asks, with far too much cunning for an innocent question. "They communicate all that through touch, do they?"

Jensen's countenance sours a bit at the inquiry, as Misha is not known for subtlety. His friend has continually sought answers for how Jensen's skill works and even if Jensen wanted to explain it, he's not certain he would be successful.

Since he first discovered the ability to scry truth from simple skin-on-skin contact when he was naught but six summers old, he's never really been able to fathom it on a practical basis. It's more intuition than science, more instinct than something perceivable.

And he learned, early on, that the majority of people in the manor don't wish to discuss matters of clairvoyance.

Now, he is accepted for his usefulness, his legacy that of being nothing more threatening than an instrument, a mechanism for learning truth whether the subject wants it known or not.

Jensen the Weapon.

But no one -- save Misha and a few curious others -- care at all to grasp the how behind it. Jensen prefers the seclusion. Meddlers can be quite taxing. "I don't need to touch to know the animals would much prefer my company to yours."

Misha holds a hand to his chest. "How you wound me, Jensen the True."

Jensen blanches as he moves across the stable to slop the hogs. He never likes being reminded of the moniker he'd been given as a child, one which has followed him throughout his life. He focuses instead on making certain the animals are fed before the day's proceedings can begin.

He likely won't have the strength later to tend to them.

"Surely there must be some other reason for your appearance this morning besides provocation," Jensen mumbles, knowing sometimes the easiest way to contend with Misha is to simply live through it.

"Genevieve dreams."

Jensen inhales as slowly as he is able under the circumstances. It's been whispered that the Misha's wife, Genevieve, is a seer and while there have been more than enough reasons to verify the claim, Jensen doesn't have the mettle for prophecy and the like. Especially today.

Sir Simon, an all black tomcat, and his feline family strut into the barn when Jensen opens the door to the cows. He knows they're hoping for a taste of some milk, but time is not on his -- or their -- side. In an effort to divert Misha from where Jensen fears he's heading, he says, "Are they dreams of the family you hope to conceive?"

Unfortunately for Jensen's already muddled nerves, Misha doesn't take the bait and instead jumps right to the heart of it all. "She says the prophecy draws near."

Sir Simon's youngest -- Talon, a tabby boy -- leaps from the floor of the hay-strewn barn to Jensen's shoulder, proving the origins of his name as he digs his claws through the thin wool of Jensen’s cloak and into Jensen's skin to claim a spot on his favorite chariot. Jensen spares him what should be a withering glance, but Talon merely purrs and settles in. Jensen knows of all the felines inside the castle walls, Talon is the most affectionate, the one whose entire existence seems focused solely on human cuddles, and the sense of contentment Jensen receives from his furry friend helps alleviate some of the aggravation at Misha's continued chatter.

Balancing both cat and pitchfork to gather feed for the cows, Jensen notices Misha's expectant expression and he knows a response is owed concerning his wife's predictions. He sighs, "Perhaps she should request time with the clerics so all could prepare."

Misha chortles -- he's gotten remarkably good at a satirical tone since marrying Genevieve. "You can't tell me the prophecy means nothing to you."

Jensen gathers grasses for the cows and states, over his shoulder, around Talon's fur, "I can, actually."

Humor fades from Misha's face and he becomes alarmingly animated and expressive. "Jensen. The prophecy states Truth and Valor will come together to unite the surrounding kingdoms for centuries, but if malice is allowed to fester and overtake what's right, it will mean strife and bloodshed for just as long."

"I am well-versed on the prophecy, Misha," Jensen interrupts with a decisive roll of his eyes at Misha's aggrandizing. "You talk of very little else."

Jensen's beginning to believe Misha would have made quite an admirable thespian if his heredity hadn't given him such remarkable skills in bending leather into a variety of tailored shapes.

Undaunted, Misha continues, "I know you fear the brewing war that's rumored between Lord Heyerdahl and Lord Pileggi as much as all of us, and unrest between our two kingdoms would be the lynchpin to trigger the involvement of the South lands. Lord Pelligrino's army would be much more than a worthy adversary, I'd wager."

"What I fear even more," Jensen whispers feverishly, eyes darting to the bailey outside the stable, knowing Lord Heyerdahl's knights maintain rigid security at all times. "Are the current repercussions if we are overheard discussing such preposterous matters."

"How, in the gods’ names, can you call the prophecy preposterous, knowing of your own capabilities? Living each day with the gift with which you've been graced?"

Jensen gapes and displaces Talon from his shoulder. Calling his abilities a gift is as confounding as much as it offends. “If it’s a gift I have, it is a gift you would not wish to receive. Believe me.”

“The worth of many gifts is dependent upon perception.”

To make his point, Misha reaches out, stretching a hand across to Jensen's bare forearm, linen tunic rolled up from his work -- Misha often accentuates words with touch, it's ingrained in him, inherent and Jensen dances back just in time to defer the attempted connection.

Even their lifelong friendship — and indeed, Misha is one of the few people in Jensen’s life who has ever defended him — cannot counteract the distress and discomfort Jensen feels with skin-to-skin contact. It’s not that Misha isn’t forthright or true, it’s just the closeness overwhelms and inundates every sense -- it is not a pleasant feeling -- and Jensen prefers to maintain the distance.

Misha sighs and moves away with a shake of his head. “You have to wonder, as I, if Lord Heyerdahl has chosen this time to fortify his troops because he plans to move against Lord Pileggi.”

The hounds begin to bay as soon as Jensen opens the door between the kennel and the stable, anticipating breakfast. It’s only the noise that rouses Donovan from the linens of Jensen’s bed — the first sign that his master plans a feeding.

Jensen has a small room — his quarters — at the end of the stretch of structures that house the animals. It has space for not much more than a bed, which is simply a wooden frame up off the dirt floor with its mattress of feathers Jensen had gathered from the hens and roosters over the years, and a set of shelves for storage, but Jensen much prefers it to the walls of the castle. There are far too many eyes within the Lord’s keep — not all of them friendly — and it allows Jensen to care for the animals that are dependent on him and maintain a comfortable distance from the people of the manor.

Misha appears expectant while Jensen gives Donovan access to the kennel and his family of canines.

While Jensen has lain awake many a night pondering the seriousness of Lord Heyerdahl’s search for knights, permitting worry to smolder instead of sleep, he knows better than to discuss the matter where the risk of being overheard is nearly as great as the hazard of spurring Misha further in his dramatics.

He provides the dogs leftovers and bones from the previous evening’s dinner. “You know as well as I that it's not our place to concern ourselves with matters clearly better left to the courts and lords and ladies who reside within."

Misha crosses his arms over his chest and murmurs, deliberately light, "I see. So a prophecy that has been spoken for as long as anyone in the manor can remember and, as happenstance would have it, has at its center, the concept of truth, a value that all know has been associated directly with you practically for as long as you've drawn breath, isn't a matter for your concern?"

A rough shiver courses through Jensen at Misha's words and he has to reach for Donovan, his closest friend and confidant for the last four years even as the dog finishes breakfast. Touching the hound's fur and muscle chases the chill from Jensen's limbs.

He's not dense. He knows the prophecy has his abilities at its center and he would have to be both deaf and dumb not to have heard the whispers that trailed his very presence in the manor for the last twenty seasons, since that fateful day when he'd reached for his friend's arm and proclaimed the boy untrue in his assertion that he knew nothing of the whereabouts of his sister's comb.

When the missing implement showed up that very evening in the boy's bedclothes, the lie had been forgotten and instead, all eyes had turned to Jensen, the orphan boy who had declared through nothing more than a simple touch that for which he had no prior knowledge.

He can still recall the feel of the gathered crowd's stares. Some wondered why they had ever taken the boy -- with no mother or father -- into the castle grounds in the first place. Others cursed the skill as sorcery. Only a few, relatively sane voices assured that a boy of merely six summers meant no harm.

The family with which Jensen had been living denounced him as unclean and forbade him from entering their home again. Only Misha's mother and father took pity on the cursed child enough to provide a bed and keep Jensen from starvation.

He was no longer allowed in the company of the village children and virtually all inhabitants gave him a wide berth when he passed through the bailey.

It was seven seasons later when Lord Heyerdahl, ever the scheming tactician, called for Jensen in the great hall and reached out to clasp Jensen’s hand tightly in his own.

An overwhelming sense of cold and malice had nearly brought Jensen, then only thirteen summers, to his knees. It reminded him of the serpents he’d found in the rocks outside the castle walls, slithering and hissing and the feeling crept along his spine and brought a chill he feared no warmth could banish.

He remained upright more from the grip Lord Heyerdahl had than any steadfastness of his own.

“My family origins are Genoa,” Lord Heyerdahl whispered, nearly sibilant like the very snakes Jensen pictured. “True or false, boy?”

Through the suffocating cold, Jensen felt his stomach tighten with wrongness and he knew it wasn’t true. He shook his head.

Lord Heyerdahl squeezed harder and hissed, “I need you to speak the word.”

Jensen closed his eyes and prayed to the gods to end the torture even as he choked out, “F-false.”

“Then where did I originate?”

Jensen tried to hold back the tears. “I d-don’t know.”

Lord Heyerdahl frowned. “As a truth sayer, surely you can pluck the answers from my very mind, can you not?”

Jensen rolled his head back and forth, rather viciously, and tried to pull away. “I c-cannot.”

Lord Heyerdahl held firm. “My full name is Christopher Nicholas Heyerdahl and I was born in the Kingdom of Aragon.”

Jensen nodded and murmured, “T-true.”

When Lord Heyerdahl released him, Jensen’s knees gave out and he tumbled to the stone floor of the great hall, gasping for breath and a sense of composure a child of his age shouldn’t know.

“Fascinating.” Lord Heyerdahl stroked his beard.

In a fortnight, Jensen was again called to the banquet hall and this time, Lord Heyerdahl demanded he lay hands on scullery maid from three villages over to determine the veracity of her servitude to his keep.

To this day, it's in the darkest nights that Jensen can recall the choking magnitude of the fear in her eyes when he touched her skin and knew that she would never be loyal to her new Lord.

When he told Lord Heyerdahl that the woman's fidelity could not be trusted, she was cast out without a single possession and her screams as the knights escorted her through the drawbridge would forever haunt Jensen's soul.

It was at that moment that Jensen the Orphaned Child had become known as Jensen the True.

And his life was forever altered.

Lord Heyerdahl's eyes gleamed with heavy cunning at what Jensen could do. And every time Jensen was called to the great hall to scry for truth, he would not raise his eyes to the faces of those he might condemn through simple touch.

He refused to ever again see the truth of what his skill could do.

The distant sound of the drawbridge being lowered jolts Jensen out of his memories and his eyes are likely a bit wild when he turns to Misha and glances out the southern most kennel window.

"I do not enjoy my wife's restless sleep, Jensen, and would give the world for her to slumber peacefully," Misha professes.

For a distressful, uncharacteristic moment, Jensen feels envy that Misha has found another to truly love and with whom to share his life. Jensen remembers the winter of his seventeenth season when he had believed there would be someone for him, and despite his unseemly and unwanted captivation of the male form, he had forced himself to search for a women to be his bride, but could find no one -- not a single female (of those who would even agree to be in his company) -- in the village whose touch did not provoke him to near physical illness.

He blames his current thoughts on the firm thud of the drawbridge hitting the opposite bank that he can hear, even across the bailey. His restless discomfort at the imminent afternoon appointment makes him long for warm arms in which to lose himself, for however a brief a respite, from what he knows is coming.

The fact that said arms, in his mind's eye, are decidedly masculine, and the certainty that that kind of physical comfort is something he will never know, causes him to scoff at himself and shake his head.

Misha exhales around his words as he exits, “Just be vigilant, my friend. Keep an eye open even for that which you find preposterous.”

***

Greenbriar Manor lies adjacent to a healthy stream that cuts along the left of the land, sustaining the keep and village. Lord Heyerdahl was wise to choose this spot on which to build his castle to serve King Richings.

Jared the Brave rests a hand on the hilt of his sword as the drawbridge lowers and looks to his left, where his friend and brother in all but blood is assessing the structure of the keep without saying a word.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan raises a silent eyebrow and Jared knows the expression is as good as a seal of approval for the construction.

Chain-mail and assorted armor clatters as the large group of assembled knights crosses the wooden plank and enters the great hall, glowing bright in torchlight and what little sun makes it through the sparse openings that pass for windows.

Lord Heyerdahl reposes in a chair, made up of more wood than upholstery, and Jared admits to being somewhat surprised. From the whispers he’d heard, he figured Heyerdahl would attempt an appearance far more concerned with grandeur than simplicity.

Indeed, the previous evening in the makeshift encampment surrounding Greenbriar Manor where the hopeful applicants for knighthood had set up, conjecture about the upcoming trials had abounded.

Wild rumors had been tossed around like leaves on the wind, but the one that seemed to hold more traction than others said that there would be no physical test. That Lord Heyerdahl had a secret weapon for his decision.

Ty Olsson, a burly man from south of Bath, scoffed and insisted Heyerdahl would have some assessment at the end of his sword and those that passed would be granted appointment.

A boy, not more than fifteen summers, sat across from Jared at the fire and though he tried to hide his shudders, they were blatantly obvious on his thin, wiry frame. Tyler Johnston, amid chattering teeth, said he was certain it was a crystal ball.

A third man who had introduced himself as Tahmoh Penikett suggested it would likely be an examination of a knight’s decision-making skills and strategy.

The only man at the fire that remained oddly silent was a dark-haired fellow Jared heard was named James Patrick Stewart. He had a slyness about him that rankled a bit, but Jared didn’t speak to Jeffrey Dean about his misgivings.

Most of the talk centered on Heyerdahl’s supposed penchant for showing off his power and fortune and worldly vocabulary.

Thus, Jared had expected some pretentious display better suited for the stage than the walls of a keep.

The lack of opulence and melodrama gives Jared a refreshing sense of optimism as he takes a chair at the long table, adorned with various cutlery and goblets for the celebration to follow the appointment.

His positive expectation takes a turn when Heyerdahl rises to speak and Jared gets a good look at his eyes, a crystalline blue that reflect far more than the tactician he’s reputed to be. Jared gets a sense of shrewdness that borders on venom and he wants to blame his sudden chill on the interior of the castle, but knows he can’t.

He fingers the knife that flanks his right thigh and wishes he’d fought harder with Jeffrey Dean to bring his mace. Greenbriar Manor has an unsettled feeling that raises Jared’s hackles, but seems to have no true source.

He doesn’t like it and it must show because Jeffrey Dean taps the arm of his chair twice to get Jared’s leg to stop bobbing.

Jared settles a bit, relaxing his outward appearance, but sharpens his senses to his surroundings.

“Gentlemen,” Heyerdahl begins. “Welcome to Greenbriar Manor, lands under the rule of King Richings. We have a thriving village with well-stocked stables and a suitable source of provisions. I am looking for bold, brave knights to tend to the castle and surrounding manor and its people. My knights participate in tournaments to hone and perfect their fighting skills. If you are deemed worthy and loyal, you will be given a pallet in the knight’s quarters tonight and your rounds will begin with the sun tomorrow.”

With that, Heyerdahl claps thrice and exits the great hall.

A frisson of confusion sweeps through the men at the table. Jared wonders if perhaps the rumors were true and Heyerdahl really does posses some type of weapon to dispose of disloyal subjects.

Despite his misgivings, Jared hopes he is found worthy.

He needs this.

His wandering, vagabond lifestyle was entertaining in his youth, but now, in his twenty-fifth summer, he finds he wants to be settled, more established.

His drive for exploration has given way to his yearning for something more permanent and when he’d heard Lord Heyerdahl was searching for knights, a calling from somewhere deep inside himself told him he had to come.

Jeffrey Dean, his guide and mentor since he’d found Jared, abandoned and alone in the streets of Canterbury when Jared was but a boy, agreed the change would likely do them both good and followed.

With a deep inhalation, Jared sends up a silent prayer to the gods that he makes the appointment.

He has an itch in his belly he can’t seem to shake that tells him, despite the agitated feeling he gets around Heyerdahl, he’s somehow meant to be a part of Greenbriar Manor.

***

Jensen barely has time to clean the smell of the stables off himself, eat a bite or two for his midday meal and change to attire more appropriate for the castle before he’s summoned to the great hall.

He scoops up a sprig of dried lavender from the shelf next to his bed and tucks it behind his ear, knowing he’ll need as much soothing as he can get in the coming hours and the herb has helped mollify his nerves in the past.

He sneaks into the castle through the kitchen galley, his typical route, and finds Christian Kane elbow deep in preparing the evening’s feast, his long hair tied back with a strip of leather at the nape of his neck.

He spares a quick glance for Jensen, always aware of anyone who dares enter his kitchen, wielding a knife with skills as great as any knight, but Christian prefers to use them in food preparation.

Jensen steals only a taste of one of Christian’s delectable sweetmeats, partly because he knows he’ll need the energy the sugar provides and partly because he knows he can.

“Perhaps we should search the lands for bigger cats to collect the bigger mice who abscond with my food,” Christian murmurs.

Jensen stops only long enough to grin. “Talon adores me. He’ll share that adoration with any feline who resides within these walls.”

Christian merely shakes his head, but looks up from his cutlery to make eye contact and say, “Blessings of the gods be with you, Jensen the True.”

Next to Misha, Christian is one of the few others in the manor who support Jensen. He hopes his expression conveys his gratitude as he takes the stone stairs to the great hall and reaches for a serenity that continues to elude him when it comes to scrying.

It’s apparent that the great hall bustles with men from the smell alone. Bodies, what must be forty or fifty deep, crowd into the room in varying stages of cleanliness, and surround the long table set up for the evening’s celebration. Any small scent of lavender from the sprig at Jensen's ear is washed away by the overwhelming odor of the gathered men.

Jensen’s breath lodges halfway up his chest. He had no idea Lord Heyerdahl’s summons would produce so many would-be knights.

The thought — the mere idea — of making skin-to-skin contact with each one of them freezes him at the entrance to the great hall and brings a terror that literally chokes him.

Curtis Armstrong, Lord Heyerdahl’s liege and second in command, turns at the noise and his countenance evokes anticipatory cruelty. He whispers with unrestrained glee, “The weapon has arrived.”

Lord Heyerdahl glances to the doorway and strides purposely forward.

“Had you made us wait any longer, boy, there would have been consequences. Come. To the front of the room.”

Lord Heyerdahl reaches out and Jensen knows — he knows — if he’s going to maintain any kind of stability, he absolutely cannot touch the man.

He shies away as surreptitiously as possible and just manages to evade Lord Heyerdahl’s fingers as he makes his way, picking through the throng of men, trying not to breathe too deeply even though he needs the balm it would bring, and stops beside the lord’s chair.

He avoids Lord Heyerdahl’s stormy eyes at being rebuked as the man shouts, “Gentlemen. We are ready to begin.”

The low murmurs fade into absolute silence as all men turn to the front of the room.

“If you would please step forward, side by side and remove any gloves you may be wearing,” Lord Heyerdahl commands.

Jensen’s entire body shakes, his tunic wavering with each shudder, and he couldn’t stop the reaction even with a sword to his neck. It’s daunting, facing the presence of that many able-bodied men, even without the task ahead. He’s suddenly not certain how he’s going to remain standing and longs for Donovan’s wet nose and loyal brown eyes.

The men seemed perplexed at the request, but comply without a word.

It’s with a shove from Lord Heyerdahl that Jensen, eyes rooted to the stone floor, stumbles up to the first man, and extends his hand.

Reflex, more than anything, Jensen guesses, makes the man connect their palms.

Discomfort and an unpleasant ache shimmy through Jensen, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“Sir Christopher Evans,” Lord Heyerdahl speaks. “Do you swear allegiance to this Manor and all it’s people? Will you remain loyal to me in the face of any and all other temptations?”

There’s a beat of bewildered silence, maybe two, and Jensen sees the man’s feet shift on the floor before he answers, “I will.”

Jensen inhales, responds with a single word, “Truth,” and yanks his hand unceremoniously out of the knight’s.

“Welcome to the keep,” Lord Heyerdahl says.

Jensen doesn’t need to have his head up to know that every single man in the great hall turns, almost in unison, to look at him, and a series of gasps and shocked comments echo off the walls.

And so it begins.

It stalls at the fifth man in, wearing shoes that speak of a wealth far greater than a knight should have and a voice that holds resentment and a kingdom’s worth of anger. He refuses Jensen’s outstretched hand.

“What sorcery is this, Heyerdahl? How are we supposed to accept the word of this…warlock?” he asks.

Lord Heyerdahl mumbles something to Armstrong, gets an equally quiet answer and addresses the man. “Master Thomas Hiddleston. Perhaps you would like to test the ability of my weapon?”

Jensen closes his eyes. These are the moments he fears most. When doubt and skepticism give way to extended pain and torture.

“With pleasure,” Hiddleston replies and grasps Jensen’s hand in an icy, tight fist.

A thousand shades of night and a sharp, inky numbness blast up Jensen’s arm and he can’t control the barbed cry that barks out of his closed throat.

It’s too much. He can’t do it.

But he can’t get out of Hiddleston’s hold, either.

The man starts small, “My mother gave birth to two children.”

Jensen sways on his feet, seeing only the darkness behind his eyelids, and his breath rattles in and out.

“Answer,” Lord Heyerdahl demands.

“Ah, gods,” Jensen wheezes. “T-true.”

“I was the second and she cut me out of her swollen womb with a dull blade.”

Jensen clenches his teeth together so as not to vomit. “F-false.”

But the image remains.

"Do I have a brother or a sister?" Hiddleston asks.

Jensen shakes his head; it always goes this way. "I d-don't know."

"Now who's the sayer of falsehoods, weapon?" Hiddleston sneers.

"It's not f-facts I see," Jensen explains. "Only truths and lies."

Silence descends for a moment and when Hiddleston speaks again, Jensen swears he hears the hint of a biting smile. “When I was but four summers, I slit my sister's favorite kitten's throat, but told her a wolf had found the litter."

Jensen whimpers aloud, he can't help it. He cannot imagine someone being that cruel to a helpless, tiny animal. He remembers when Talon was first born and the thought of someone taking a knife to his throat brings bile to Jensen's tongue.

And the true horror reveals itself when Jensen must whisper, "T-truth."

“And finally, tell Lord Heyerdahl that I would support a wise and shrewd lord, as I have heard he is rumored to be, and it would be in his best interests to add my talents to his stock of knights and include me in his personal guard if he has any hopes of maintaining his stronghold on this keep.”

“T-true,” Jensen confirms at the end of a torn breath.

Lord Heyerdahl claps. “Well done, Hiddleston. And welcome. A clever strategist such as yourself will be a great asset to the manor.”

As the words ring off the walls, Jensen attempts one more time to jerk his hand free.

This time, Hiddleston lets go and Jensen pivots, completely graceless, coughs raggedly, and only just manages to catch himself on the table behind him, his voice shredded, “Hold,” he practically begs. “H-hold Lord Heyerdahl. Please. Just for a moment.”

Hiddleston laughs outright. “Tis a pity such a useful weapon can’t be wielded for longer periods, Lord Heyerdahl.” The smirk is clear in his tone.

“I’ve found it can be used as long as he remains conscious,” Lord Heyerdahl attests.

And, gods, Jensen only vaguely remembers that day. He’d awoken in his bed four hours before dawn with no knowledge of how he’d gotten there or who had brought him.

Lord Heyerdahl had been questioning the villagers about any whisperings they may have heard concerning Lord Pelligrino’s armies. Jensen had only made it through half of them before his vision started to swim and black dots appeared before his eyes.

He’s terrified this may be worse.

“He could use some water,” Jensen hears from behind him, a concerned voice among the throng.

“He’ll have it when he’s finished,” Heyerdahl all but snarls.

And Jensen knows the only way out is through.

So with a breath that sounds as rough as a person suffering tuberculosis, he spins toward the line again, eyes downcast, and steps up to the next man with his hand outstretched.

By the time he makes it to the man with the gruff voice who had suggested water, Jensen has reached a level of exhaustion even he didn’t realize could be attained.

He’d cast out four of the men whose loyalty was false and it’s only sheer will and the knowledge that he’s more than halfway through that keeps him at his post.

Jensen holds out his hand, but it’s not immediately taken. Instead the man murmurs, “My apologies. I wouldn’t cause you pain if it were my choice.”

Jensen frowns at the man’s shoes, but nods without speaking.

When the connection is made, Jensen barely reacts.

“Mister Jeffrey Dean Morgan,” Lord Heyerdahl says. “Do you swear allegiance to this Manor and all its people? Will you remain loyal to me in the face of any and all other temptations?”

“I will,” Jeffrey Dean replies.

“Truth.”

Before he can let go, Jeffrey Dean clasps Jensen’s hand in both of his. “Again, sir. Apologies.”

And Jensen knows that, too, is true.

"Welcome," Heyerdahl declares.

The knight steps back, but Jensen's a little shaken. He's used to far more skepticism and outright scorn than the level of consideration he's just been shown.

It's with an unfocused mind that he steps to the right and holds out his hand.

The mental fog is likely why he doesn't see it coming.

He can tell the man has an impressive height, even without looking much above his knees -- the legs in front of him seem taller than some of the trees that grow in the woods beside the castle. When the long fingers slide into his palm, everything Jensen has ever known shifts between one second and the next.

Pleasure -- bright and warm and beautiful -- floods in a glowing streak up Jensen's arm and suffuses through his chest and stomach and limbs in a thick, amazing rush and he can't control his reaction. He gasps, sharp, and jerks his chin up and up and up to the surprisingly sympathetic hazel eyes of the tall man who, even now, is clasping Jensen's hand in more of a caress than a gesture of introduction.

The sensation soothes as much as the first time Jensen had immersed himself in the hidden spring of the glen not a few hundred yards outside the castle walls. He never thought he'd discover that much sweet, calming satisfaction with another person.

And for the first time in Jensen's twenty-nine summers, he finds he wants nothing more than to step forward, as close to this man as he can get, and see how high the pleasure can climb.

It's as disconcerting as it is alluring.

The man smiles, an incredibly kind expression, and murmurs, "Hello."

Jensen wants to respond, but he's caught, wholly, in whatever it is that's moving between them, and he can't.

"You only wrote one name here, boy," Lord Heyerdahl's voice interrupts. "What's your surname?"

The man's hazel eyes shift from Jensen, but his thumb rubs small circles on the tendon that runs just under Jensen's forefinger and the motion sends a shiver all along Jensen's spine.

"I have none," the man explains. "I was found on the streets of Canterbury knowing only my first name, Jared, when I was a boy."

Jensen feels a sudden kinship with this man, Jared, for he knows what it's like to not have any personal lineage.

Jensen imagines Jared came from a proud people, though. He holds himself tall -- indeed, he towers over most men in the great hall. His long, chestnut-colored hair falls freely on his shoulders -- no leather strap holds it from his face. For a brief instant, Jensen thinks of his own erratically shorn hair and knows an odd sense of mortification. He does not like to sit with another person trimming his locks, so he must do it himself. The results are...less than attractive.

Jared’s hair looks remarkably clean and well-managed, despite its length and his jaw, freshly shaven, likely this morning before the appointment, is strong and appears remarkably smooth even in its overwhelming masculinity.

Jensen wonders what it would feel like against his own cheek.

His heart jolts at the thought -- one he'd never, ever had before about anyone, male or female -- and he inhales raggedly, drawing Jared's attention back to him. When their eyes again connect, Jensen swears it's as though a clap of lightning bolts through him and he wonders if all in the great hall can sense it, despite the fact that there's no reaction at all.

"And how would a boy with no parents or ancestry be a good choice for a knight in this keep?" Lord Heyerdahl asks.

Jared answers, without looking away from Jensen, "I have an ancestry, Lord Heyerdahl, I just don't know what it is."

There's a second of silence that seems to hang in the air.

Jeffrey Dean clears his throat and shifts on the other side of Jared.

Lord Heyerdahl's voice holds a hint of warning, "One wonders if perhaps there are wolves in it somewhere, seeing as you clearly were raised without the decency to maintain eye contact with those with whom you are conversing."

Jared jerks a bit, snaps his head to the left and reels Jensen in just a half a step closer and Jensen goes -- despite his earlier deliberate distance from all the others he scryed -- without thinking about it.

"My sincerest apologies, Lord Heyerdahl," Jared appeases. "I just find myself rather enthralled by your…weapon."

Jensen thinks surely everyone in the hall must be able to hear the derision in Jared's tone when he uses the word.

"Feel free to test it, if you wish," Lord Heyerdahl sounds more challenging than conceding.

Jared looks back to Jensen with a soft smile. "I would rather talk to him than test it."

The juxtaposition of the inflection of the two words cannot be lost on Lord Heyerdahl, but despite the always possible threat of violence from his lord, Jensen can't find it in himself to move the proceedings along any faster.

He has the surprising urge to see what Jared will ask and the staggering need to not let go of Jared's skin.

"Unfortunately, boy, this isn't a social call and we don't have time for pleasantries," Lord Heyerdahl attests. "So, I must instead ask, do you swear allegiance to this Manor and all its people? Will you remain loyal to me in the face of any and all other temptations?”

Jared stares directly into Jensen's eyes when he answers -- a first since Jensen was thirteen -- and says, "I will."

Jared's truth curls through Jensen like the sunrise after a long night. Jensen smiles at the sensation, "Truth."

"Welcome to the Manor," Lord Heyerdahl says and Jensen can hear the disdainful lip curl even though he can't see it.

Before he lets go, Jared turns their combined hands together so that Jensen's is on top, like he would greet a lady of the court and asks quickly, "What's your name?"

Jensen told himself more than twelve seasons ago that he would speak as few words as possible during the scrying, unless under serious duress, so he has no idea what compels him to murmur, "Jensen."

Jared nods and for the briefest second, Jensen would almost swear Jared wants to kiss Jensen's upturned hand, but instead, Jared whispers, "Apologies for any discomfort I caused, Jensen."

And his name sounds so good coming from the other man's lips, Jensen's chest grows oddly warm. "I assure you, there was not a moment, sir," Jensen replies, surprising even himself with the truth of his words.

Jared smiles, clasps Jensen's hand in both of his with a final squeeze and lets go.

Instantly, and with an instinct as old as time, Jensen misses the connection.

The next hand he takes in his own feels discordant, wrong, abhorrent, somehow vividly lacking and Jensen wonders what in the kingdom had just happened. How could it be that after twenty-nine seasons and knowing nothing but discomfort and distress at another’s touch this one man could bring such pleasure?

There’s no sense to be made of it.

With a mental shake of his head, Jensen blames it on his earlier thoughts when Misha discussed marriage — Jensen had allowed himself to wish for that which he knows will never be his.

It had softened his resolve, his understanding of the truth of his life and had allowed Jared’s kindness to breach his inner fortitude.

Five knights later, eyes once again firmly on the stone floor, so as to disconnect himself from the fate of those around him, Jensen believes it was all in his head.

The fact that he managed to scry the final fifteen men without nearly the upset he usually feels is merely coincidence, not the result of Jared's touch.

It has to be.

***

"Your impudence will likely be your downfall one day," Jeffrey Dean declares around a mouthful of bread.

Jared smiles, at both his friend’s words and the impeccable taste of the venison he sampled. “It wasn't impudence, I assure you. Merely curiosity.”

Even as he makes the statement, he finds his eyes glancing to the lord’s table where the green-eyed truth sayer sits at the end, appearing well-removed from the knights, despite their sharing supper.

Jensen beguiles him, not only for his abilities, but because of…something. Jared can’t quite get a grasp on what it is that draws his attention and that, alone, is vexing.

Jeffrey Dean reaches to the center of the table for a fig and shoots Jared a scoffing glance.

Jared catches the expression out of the corner of his eye and asks, “Isn’t a knight’s inquisitiveness meant to be a sign of intelligence? Of cunning? Surely any lord would prefer a shrewd champion over one thick as the very trees that adorn his forest?”

Jeffrey Dean shakes his head. “Logic like that would likely be better suited to parliament than a knight’s fealty.”

Jared chuckles around the well-spiced bread and can’t help but notice that Jensen rarely consumes any of the food on his full plate.

And yet, somehow, it disappears.

His interest piqued, Jared files that knowledge away.

The celebration continues, knights and nobles alike partaking in the harvest of the manor, ale being consumed at a rather alarming rate, relief and renewed vigor for the future swirling in the great hall.

Jared and Jeffrey Dean have seen it before and wisely monitor their own intake, not wanting to be drawn into revelry that could easily turn raucous with the newly assembled group of men.

By the time the sweetmeats and cakes are set out, the lord calls for the manor’s kept ladies, women either unmarried or unwilling to be, brought out to please the lord and his guests.

Jared tries to hide his disgust at the situation, but is likely unsuccessful.

He’s never had much time for women of the night, or if he’s being truthful with himself, women in general.

Ever since his sixteenth summer, when he realized his manhood could be used for more than elimination, he found himself far more curious about the men in the streets of Canterbury than the women.

He knows his leanings are blasphemous and wrong in the eyes of the church and many of the lords, but he can’t help but enjoy the strong grip of a masculine hand over that of a delicate female.

When he had gotten the nerve to confess his wayward predilections to Jeffrey Dean, certain the other man would cast him out, want nothing more to do with him, he was surprised to find Jeffrey Dean not only understanding, but helpful.

Jeffrey Dean had explained that there were others, both men and women, who shared Jared’s propensity. To a boy of not even twenty summers, who, as a result of his disposition expected the life of, at best, a monk, and at worst, a eunuch, the news came as a revelation.

Indeed, Jared discovered that locating other men who were anxious to not only discuss, but also partake in dalliances with other men proved remarkably simple and, while they had to keep a watchful eye out for those who would use the knowledge for ill gain or blackmail, also relatively harmless.

So, while the other knights in the great hall turn their eyes to the silks and smooth skin of the women who float around the room, Jared finishes the last of the ale in his goblet and remains focused on the man at the corner of the lord’s table.

Jensen is certainly attractive, Jared confirmed that at first glance. His sun-kissed hair and plump lips appeal more than anyone Jared has known for many seasons and he’s clearly fit -- his tunic and trousers hug a muscle definition that has Jared nearly aching to explore beneath.

Yet, still, there’s some undefinable aspect that pulls at Jared even beyond the physical. It’s oddly enigmatic and most definitely arousing. He stands quietly.

“Caution is often the better part of valor,” Jeffrey Dean murmurs as Jared steps around his chair.

“Understood, friend. Rest assured, I wish only to speak to him,” Jared replies, without halting his progress across the room.

Jared notices a frisson of awareness travel Jensen’s skin when the other man recognizes Jared’s approach.

Keeping an eye on the lord and his underlings, all of whom appear to be heavily preoccupied by drink and women, Jared takes the chance to squat down next to Jensen, hiding his height by simply crouching out of the eyeline of the others at the table.

Chain mail seethes and glimmers as he adjusts his position to accommodate the heavy armor and he murmurs, “Hello again.”

Green eyes widen, either at Jared’s presence alone or the quiet audacity required to walk up to the lord’s table, Jared can’t be certain which. It doesn’t stop Jensen from greeting with a soft, “H-hello.”

Not for the first time, Jared’s attention is drawn to the small sprig tucked behind Jensen’s ear and he whispers, “I must confess to being plagued all evening by a raging curiosity.”

Jensen’s wide eyes never leave his face.

“If you would please do me the honor of explaining the purpose of this.”

Jared reaches out and plucks the delicate flower from behind Jensen’s ear, fingertips grazing the shell very lightly and producing a cascading reaction of indrawn breath and goosebumps from the other man.

Jensen remains seated and silent, watching Jared with an expression that appears to be part wonder and part bafflement.

Jared waits. He’s found the best way to gain information is patience.

After a few moments, Jensen starts, as though realizing he’s expected to respond and his voice is quiet. “I-it’s lavender. It g-grows in the fields just outside the m-manor. It helps q-quiet the nerves.”

“I see. And did it help today?” Jared questions, while drawing the dried herb under his nose to inhale the fragrance.

Jensen’s shrug is his answer.

Jared’s eyes are again brought to Jensen’s body under the tunic of fresh-washed beige and the buckskin drawers that hug his surprisingly supple thighs. It’s through the perusal of Jensen’s well-muscled limbs that Jared discovers the satchel between Jensen’s feet, stuffed full of the food of which the group had just partaken.

Jared’s eyebrows hitch into his hairline and he says, “Well, that explains the amount of meat and bread I’ve witnessed on your plate but how little of it passed your lips.”

Jensen sucks in a sharp breath and twitches in the chair, clearly nervous at being caught. “I…it’s not…I don’t…”

“Worry not, green eyes,” Jared whispers around a smile, handing the lavender back. “I am not the teller of tales or truth sayer’s secrets. Your plunderings are safe.”

Jensen seems too shocked for a reply.

“I have to wonder, though,” Jared continues, his tone confidential. “How you plan to consume all that yourself? And where, in fact, you keep it on such a lean frame?”

Jared counts a literal fourteen beats before Jensen jerks himself out of the open-jawed stare he’d held.

“I…” Jensen’s voice fails the first time and he clears his throat quietly. “I t-take this to the villagers. The w-winter was a sparse one and their hunger stretches with the thaw. Nothing alarming, I assure you, but some of the children still suffer from the winter coughs. Additional food will help replenish their energies.”

Jared blinks, the answer surprising as it is humbling. And he has no doubt of Jensen’s sincerity. Jensen's concern and consideration for his fellow people are as overt as the color of his eyes and golden hue of his hair.

“How often do you do this for the village?” Jared asks, subdued with more than just the need for discretion.

Jensen shrugs in a self-effacing manner. “Any time there is a feast and I am called to be of…use,” he shifts a bit at the mention of his abilities and pauses for a moment. “The villagers, they…aren’t starving or lacking, really, but food from the castle is a real treat for them and it’s more than the l-lord can consume on his own…”

Jensen appears nervous again when the full explanation comes out, but instead of outraged, Jared is equal parts awed and overcome by Jensen’s thoughtful actions. Surely he knows if discovered absconding with food rightly meant for Heyerdahl he would be punished.

And yet, he risks his own welfare for that of the people.

It’s beyond admirable.

“Such a noble cause deserves a bigger bounty, don’t you think?” Jared reaches under the table for the satchel and takes it before Jensen can even move toward him. “Come. There is plenty extra at the knight’s table as well. I’ll help you fill this to the brim.”

Now there is real fear in Jensen’s eyes and he casts an apprehensive glance to his right, where Heyerdahl and his guard still swill ale and discuss — far too loudly in Jared’s opinion — the details of their illicit plans for the women.

Jared can’t help but lean forward with a palm over Jensen’s knee and whisper, “We’ll be quiet and discreet as church mice, I assure you.”

A visible tremor shakes Jensen's body at the touch and Jared finds he would like nothing more than to walk his fingers up Jensen's thigh to see what else might be trembling, but the great hall is clearly not the place. Instead, he squeezes, just slightly and is rewarded by a muted but clearly shocked gasp from Jensen. "Come," he beseeches, ducking away from the table.

When he turns to be certain he's followed, he can tell Jensen's nerves are high, but there's also a spark in his green eyes that hasn't been there all evening.

Jared suspects part of Jensen likes getting away with pilfering food for the village.

Jared slides into the chair he'd just vacated beside Jeffrey Dean and pulls out the empty one on his other side for Jensen.

"Now there's a countenance that's up to no good if ever I've seen one," Jeffrey Dean assesses.

"On the contrary," Jared murmurs, with a guileless tone. "It seems I have been commissioned to assist in a magnanimous effort on behalf of the village."

Jensen squeaks and squirms in the chair in protest.

Jared sighs, “Alright, I wasn't exactly commissioned as much as volunteered myself. Our friend Jensen here has been supplying the villagers with extra provisions of the feasts he attends and I find it a truly gracious gesture of which I must be a part." He gestures to the bounty on the knight's table, all but abandoned for the more lascivious pursuits of women and drink. "Surely we could give the villagers quite a treat this evening if we helped."

Jeffrey Dean simply smirks and reaches for an almost entirely full loaf of bread and slips it into the leather pouch.

By the time they've filled the satchel in a marvelous display of subterfuge that took them around the table, Jared's quite pleased that the residents of the village will be happy with the haul. He presents the bounty to Jensen with as much flourish as possible, without drawing too much attention.

Jensen fairly beams.

"Tell them it comes with my compliments," Jared grins.

Jensen takes a quick glance behind him, clearly measuring the scrutiny of the lord and his attendees at the table. He turns back with an impish smile and a soft, "T-thank you."

"My pleasure," Jared assures.

Jared loses track of how long they remain there simply smiling at one another. It's enough time that Jared catalogues all that he would like to do to Jensen, much of which isn't appropriate for public viewing.

He'll never be sure what it is that snaps Jensen out of it, but between one blink and the next Jensen pulls the satchel to himself and says, "I must take my leave."

Jared nods.

"This means so much to so many."

“The villagers are lucky to have such a thoughtful savior in you,” Jared replies, mostly to see the flush of heat crawl up Jensen’s neck in response to the praise. Jared wonders what other proclamations he could do or say to elicit the same reaction.

He has a feeling Jensen wouldn’t necessarily protest the experimentation.

With a final oath of gratitude, Jensen backs away from the table, and slips out of the great hall with his bounty tucked under his arm and no one is any the wiser.

Jared watches long after Jensen’s presence is gone.

Jeffrey Dean brings him back to the moment with his quiet words, “I feel it only prudent to state that you may not find the walls of Greenbriar Manor as understanding and receptive as the streets of Canterbury.”

“I have no plans to make a public scene like so many partake in the baths,” Jared assures. “I just…find him intriguing and want to know more about him.”

“Like the sounds he makes when you apply your tongue to various parts of his person?”

That swivels Jared’s head. His friend has a knowing expression, but one totally lacking in any censure or judgment. Jared can’t help but respond with a mirroring grin, “You know me well.”

“Indeed, but be mindful of the eyes that may be on you whether you intend it or not.”

Jeffrey Dean cuts his glance across the room quickly and when Jared echoes the motion, he finds Armstrong’s rodent-like eyes attuned to their position.

Jared turns back in an instant, not wanting to arouse suspicion in Heyerdahl’s right hand man. “Understood and appreciated, my friend. And now, I find myself saddened that I have yet to sample any of the fine desserts laid out before us. And you know my penchants for sweets.”

“Oh, t’is legendary, to be sure.”

As one, they both resume their seats at the table, still very much aware of scrutiny from the one man at the lord’s table seemingly uninterested in women and drink.

As the sugar from the sweetmeats bursts over his tongue, Jared catalogues all that he has learned from his first meal in Greenbriar Manor.

***

Jensen wobbles down the stairs to the kitchen -- he’s breathless and dazed, not only because Jared and Jeffrey Dean were so willing to help, but the fact that Jared’s touch on his knee still remains.

The residual warmth left over affects his heartbeat in odd ways -- it’s an exhilaration he knows only when riding Apollo across the lands -- the wild, untamed feeling of being one with the horse and racing across the grass never fails to take his breath away.

Jared’s touch can apparently do the same.

“...your pallor.”

Jensen blinks and finds Christian standing in front of him, brow furrowed in worry and he realizes there must have been a lot of words he didn’t comprehend. “What?” he whispers.

Christian raises a hand to Jensen’s shoulder and when he makes contact, the touch isn’t painful, but it is uncomfortable -- so vastly different from Jared -- and Jensen is once again stunned at the changes this evening has brought to his life.

He never before had anything for comparison.

Jensen steps away, breaking the connection.

“What happened, Jensen?” Christian asks, obviously taking no offense to Jensen’s wince and subsequent withdrawal, being well-versed over the many summers they’ve known one another, to Jensen’s reactions.

Jensen shakes his head, “It was like nothing…”

“Would you like some water?” Christian asks, rough voice subdued and Jensen’s always had an inkling that it was Christian who helped him to his cottage after that fateful day of scrying the whole of the village, but Christian will never admit it outright.

“Christian,” Jensen begins, ignoring the question. “There’s a knight. His name is Jared.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Jensen frowns, the question nearly unimaginable. “No,” Jensen breathes. “He’s tall and kind and he helped me,” he lifts the satchel in his arms almost as an afterthought, “he filled this far more than I would have been able on my own.”

Christian still appears doubtful.

“His smile is pure,” Jensen admits quietly.

This raises Christian’s eyebrow. “And he passed the scrying?”

“Of course,” Jensen attests with a disbelieving look. Jared not passing the scrying would be akin to the sun not rising.

Impossible.

“And how is it, in all these years of you being called to the great hall to assist the lord with your famous gift, this one knight seems able to put that expression on your face?” Christian wonders.

Jensen exhales slowly. “I do not know, but Christian, if you would just meet him, I know you would find what I have.”

“Oh, indeed,” and the characteristically satirical tone is back in Christian’s voice as he steps behind the stone counter, apparently to continue his cleaning that Jensen must have interrupted. “He certainly sounds like a brave and true knight.”

Jensen lets the comment pass as he reaches for a bite of the sweetmeats Christian always leaves out for him after meetings in the great hall. In the past, he’s needed the sugar and starches to build his energy, but tonight he partakes for the flavor alone.

Christian appears thoughtful as he watches, wiping down the stone. “Did you not have to scry as many as we anticipated? I expected you to come to me far more taxed than you are.”

As the taste of dessert bursts over his tongue, Jensen realizes Christian is correct -- he’s usually fatigued after scrying, especially that many people.

It’s rather amazing how he feels almost energized. “There were at least fifty knights looking for an appointment.”

Christian’s expression bleeds into outright shock. “Fifty? Jensen, by the gods, how are you standing upright?”

Jensen chews for a moment before shaking his head. “I know not.”

The warmth in his knee remains, whispering a possible answer that Jensen is not yet ready to face. Clapping his hands together to disperse the crumbs, Jensen says, “I must get the food to the villagers before it’s too late. Thank you, Christian.”

Christian nods without speaking and gives a reproachful look to the mess Jensen made of the counter.

Jensen slips past before the other man has a chance to demand he pick up a cloth for cleaning.

The villagers are delighted with the food Jensen delivers and by the time he makes it back to his own cottage at the end of the stable, and lights the lantern, Donovan and Talon are waiting for him on the bed, both stretched out, sound asleep.

Indeed, they take up so much space, Jensen has naught but a corner of the mattress for himself. “How am I to get my own rest when you leave me no room to do so?” he asks aloud.

Feline and canine both stretch and open their eyes to mere slits at the sound of Jensen’s voice. Donovan’s tail thumps against the linens and Talon begins his characteristic kneading of the mattress.

Jensen smiles at the greeting that’s become commonplace with the pets. He sits at Donovan’s head and the hound immediately puts nose to Jensen’s knee and sniffs intently.

“You smell him, can’t you, friend?” Jensen whispers. He closes his eyes as he scratches the hound’s ears, letting the truth of the pups loyalty settle into his bones. “Ah, Donovan, I know not what just happened.”

Donovan lifts his head a fraction as Talon settles on Jensen’s other side and demands equal attention.

“I think you’ll like him,” Jensen continues, using his free hand to rub along Talon’s back, smiling to sense the feline satisfaction that transmits through Talon’s fur. “Just look into his eyes and you’ll see what I do.”

Donovan rolls to his back for a rub of his belly and seems to give Jensen a questioning look.

Jensen shrugs, knows he’d likely get carted off to the clerics if anyone would catch him carrying on a conversation with the canine, but they’re alone, so he continues, “His touch is...not uncomfortable.” Jensen sighs. “Quite the contrary.”

Donovan huffs.

Jensen nods. “I know. I didn’t believe it, either. It must be a trick of some kind. Perhaps I’m more fatigued than I realized. Perhaps more...lonely.”

Talon curls his claws into Jensen’s thigh. Jensen winces, “No offense meant. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like…”

He lets the words fade to nothing and doesn’t pick the thought up again as he prepares for sleep. At least not aloud.

At twenty-nine seasons, the truth of the matter is Jensen should have been married ages ago and as painful as it is to admit, he does wish he had someone to share his bed and life with, other than four-legged companions.

Most nights he’s thrilled to have Donovan and Talon and their body heat and companionship, but recently, be it Misha’s foolish talk of prophecy, or the wedding ceremonies he’s attended, his thoughts have turned, once again, to his own lack of wife.

The situation is further compounded by his preference for broad shoulders of men to the soft curves of the maidens in the village.

Add to that the fact that he cannot touch another without experiencing at the very least discomfort and his prospects are truly limited.

Unbidden, Jared’s hazel eyes and generous smile flash through Jensen’s mind and as he douses the lantern and the room falls into darkness, broken only by the light of the quarter moon, Jensen smiles.

Jared is certainly a revelation as much as he is bewildering.

Jensen struggles under the covers and attempts to steal at least a bit of space on his own mattress, but Donovan and Talon don’t make it easy.

As he drifts into sleep, Jensen can’t help but wonder what other surprises Jared might bring to Greenbriar Manor.

***

Jared’s pallet in the knight’s quarters turns out to be just that -- nothing more than a sparse blanket on the stone floor. Jared knows he shouldn’t complain -- they all sleep like that -- but his shoulders and back protest the conditions.

Jared stretches after the morning meal, trying to crack his spine to get some relief and figures since he has no practice or rounds scheduled, there would be no better time to explore his new village.

What he sees at first glance is promising -- a bustling bailey full of people focused on their daily tasks and chores; an impressive garden with crops that seem plentiful; a blacksmith forging armaments; a potter making sure containers for water are available; a clothier and cobbler and spinster as well.  
Greenbriar Manor certainly appears healthy and flourishing under Heyerdahl’s rule.

And yet, Jared can’t help but wonder how much of the activity he sees is actually the result of the current lord’s wishes and how much comes from the peasants themselves.

As Jared strolls through the grounds, he gets a sense of camaraderie, of family, amongst the people surrounding him. Colorful stories and jokes are bantered about. Laughter rings out at random moments, adding to the overall positive energy in the air.

There doesn’t seem to be the seed of unfriendliness and ill will in the village that Jared would swear whispers through the walls of the castle itself.

Part of it is simple self-preservation -- it’s in the villager’s best interests to make sure the manor thrives. Their survival depends on it.

But Jared has been around enough towns and other keeps to know that a sense of fellowship is often in short supply.

Coming together for survival doesn’t necessarily guarantee an amicable village.

Greenbriar Manor seems to be the exception to that rule.

It’s with a light heart and equally bright smile that Jared comes upon the stable and kennel and finds Jensen fairly dancing around horses and hounds, trying to clear the mess they’d made since the previous day.

Much to Jared’s astonishment, Jensen performs this personal waltz with a cat draped across his shoulders. The feline, clearly content and utterly relaxed, takes Jensen’s various shuffles and side-steps with an equanimity and grace only a cat can exude.

Drawn to the display in more ways than he can name, Jared moves to the edge of the corral and leans over the boards just in time to hear Jensen admonish the avid hound at his feet.

“Truly, you will just track it everywhere,” Jensen huffs. “The rake is not a play toy, Donovan!”

The dog yaps merrily and hops to-and-fro, alternating his attention between Jensen and the tines at the end of the implement.

“I told you we would play later,” Jensen scolds. “There is work that needs to be completed first.”

The dog hunches forward, hind end in the air, tail wagging carelessly, tongue lolling past his teeth.

Jensen stops his work and leans on the rake. “You realize you are not as charming as you think you are, right?”

Jared can’t help but laugh aloud at that and reply, “That would depend on who is judging the level of charm I would wager.”

Jensen spins around so quickly, even the sure-footed cat teeters on his shoulders.

The pup woofs once and cautiously strides over to the fence. Jared grins down at him and murmurs, “Hello there.”

“What?” Jensen’s green eyes are wide with shock and...something else Jared can’t name. “W-What are you d-doing here?”

Jared shrugs, trying to ease Jensen’s rapid breath with the appearance of nonchalance. “Just investigating the village. I didn’t expect to come upon such an entertaining display.”

“I w-will have this done shortly, I assure you, sir,” Jensen vows as the cat gets comfortable once again. “Please tell Lord Heyerdahl that the chores are well in hand.”

Jared narrows his eyes at the assumption he’s on a scouting mission for Heyerdahl. “I am truly here simply for a personal stroll, Jensen. I am not under any orders of the lord.”

Jensen glances away and resumes his raking. “M-my apologies, sir."

But Jared’s curiosity is piqued. “Does the lord send his knights on investigative missions into the village regularly?”

Jensen shakes his head, “Not since the early days of his rule.”

Jared nods, further confirmation that the lord has very little knowledge of how well the manor functions on its own. “Then why would you think he would start again?”

“I do not know, sir. I simply assumed that must be the case…” Jensen seems very intent on ridding that one spot of animal waste.

“Could there be no other reason for a knight to come to the stables?”

Jensen jerks his head up at that and his expression is one of exposure at being caught out.

The hound chooses that moment to step up the fence, using his front legs to get closer to Jared.

“Donovan, get down,” Jensen commands.

Jared reaches a hand over the wooden rail to scratch the pup’s ears, “There is no need,” Jared assures. “I, too, wanted to say hello. Donovan, right?”

Jensen nods with a dazed expression.

“Hi there, Donovan. Aren’t you a handsome fellow,” Jared coos and is rewarded with a sloppy kiss from the canine. He laughs. “This one is quite a flirt, is he not?”

Jensen agrees with a quiet, “He is, sir,” and just the hint of a smile ghosting his lips.

Jared feels a shimmering warmth roll through his stomach at being able to put even that much of a happy expression on Jensen’s face, but he must address a rather pressing issue. “Jensen, my name is Jared.”

Jensen jolts a bit at that. “I am aware, sir. I was at the scrying last evening.”

“Indeed, I recall,” Jared tries for a teasing tone. “Perhaps you could use my name, then. Instead of the more formal sir?”

“But you are a knight in Lord Heyerdahl’s garrison,” Jensen counters. “I must show the respect and deference due you.”

“You and I are not that different,” Jared comments, while reaching under Donovan’s chin.

“Oh, we are very different,” Jensen whispers. “I assure you.”

“We do not know each other well enough for me to win this argument, so I will cease for now,” Jared says. “But I do insist you call me Jared.”

Jensen’s glance moves once again to the ground and Jared almost misses the quiet, “Alright...Jared.”

Hearing his name from the truth sayer’s lips shouldn’t have such a profoundly deep impact, but Jared finds it difficult to catch his breath. He thinks of what it would sound like snared on the end of a moan from Jensen’s throat and he has to tamp down on his wayward thoughts before his body begins to react inappropriately. He clears his throat, continues to stroke Donovan and comments, “I must say that’s the strangest parrot I’ve ever seen.”

Jensen appears curious, until he’s reminded of the cat on his shoulders and he chuckles. “He likes to think he’s one, but really he’s just lazy. I have heard stories of cats in Egypt that would ride the chariots with the gods and goddesses. Talon thinks he’s descended from them, I’m sure.”

Jared laughs, which seems to stir Donovan into another round of kisses. “I feel I’m being quite unfair with my affections,” Jared worries. “Would you mind stepping closer so I can greet Talon with equal friendliness?”

Jensen hesitates for the briefest moment and Jared swears he can see a warm hunger underneath the reluctance in Jensen’s eyes that sparks an answering sensation in Jared’s groin.

Slowly, not unlike a timid horse, Jensen approaches the fence. Once he’s within arms reach, Jared moves to pet only the cat, despite his desire to caress any part of Jensen he would be given access to. He keeps his touch light and unassuming, and he watches as both man and feline relax before his eyes, liking that he can take away some of Jensen’s nerves. “Well he is a nice fellow,” Jared murmurs, as Talon butts his head against Jared’s fingers. “Not at all as standoffish as I thought he would be.”

Jensen nods almost absently, clearly intent on Jared’s stroking of the cat.

Jared continues, voice soft, “He responds well to a gentle touch.”

“He does,” Jensen whispers, swaying ever so slightly closer to the fence and Jared.

“He’s clearly a sensual cat,” Jared surmises.

“Clearly,” Jensen echoes.

Jared’s got one hand on Donovan, one hand on Talon and when Jensen places his free hand on Donovan’s flank, Jared feels as though a circle joins together, oddly like they’re both connected through the animals and a primitive sensation travels Jared’s spine, new in its uniqueness. Jared’s known nothing like it before.

He’s about to release one of the animals in favor of Jensen’s skin when a little boy rushes up to the fence, shouting, “Jensen the True!”

Jensen reacts like a bolt of lightning landed between them. He jumps back so quickly that Talon leaps to the wooden rail with a haughty expression at being displaced so abruptly.

“M-Maxwell,” Jensen breathes, deliberately no longer looking at Jared. “What is it?”

Maxwell scrambles up the railing and pokes his finger toward Jensen. “I on accident got an ouch.”

Jensen grins indulgently and inspects the injury. “I think you will be fine. Remain here while I get some medication, alright?”

Maxwell nods and watches as Jensen heads into the cottage. He turns toward Jared and his eyes widen. “Are you a knight?”

Jared smiles, “I am.”

Donovan moves down the rail to sniff at Maxwell’s finger and the boy giggles before growing earnest once again. He points his small cut at Jared and announces, “I did not cry.”

“You’re very brave,” Jared assures. “Maybe one day you can be a knight as well.”

The little boy shrugs while petting the canine with his healthy hand, “Father is teaching me how to keep the fields.”

“Perhaps you can see the world before taking over your father’s profession.”

Maxwell grins, “My friend Mister Misha has been teaching me to ride a horse.

Jared quirks a brow, “And how go the studies?”

“Mister Misha says,” and at this Maxwell squishes his face up in memory. “I am fair to middlin’.”

“It takes practice,” Jared encourages around a chuckle. He glances to the cottage and asks quickly, “Tell me, Maxwell, does Jensen provide you with medication a lot?"

Maxwell nods, “Jensen the True helps everyone. We all know to come to him if we are hurt.”

“And how does he help?”

“He gives us liquid to drink or put on our skin.”

Jensen re-emerges with a bottle in his hand and the directive to Maxwell to hold out his finger. He dabs a thick salve from the bottle onto the injuryr and asks, “How did this happen, Maxwell?”

The boy looks around with a swift shrug.

Jensen changes his stance and inquires, “You would not lie to a truth sayer, would you, Maxwell?”

Maxwell sighs and explains that he and his brother, Landon, found some of his father’s smaller tools, knives and the like and were not aware of their sharpness.

Jensen nods and hands the boy a clean linen to wrap the wound. “Accidents do happen, Maxwell, but you must be careful in your father’s shop, do you understand?”

“I do,” Maxwell says solemnly.

“Keep the cloth on until you prepare for bed this evening,” Jensen tells him. “The wound should be pure by then.”

Maxwell smiles and jumps down from the fence, yells a thank you over his shoulder, and scurries around the corner.

Jensen glances to Jared with an unsure expression.

“What is in the bottle?” Jared asks.

“A simple poultice I made from cypress branches and a little bit of lavender,” Jensen murmurs. “Truly, it’s nothing more.”

“What does it do?”

“Helps regulate the flow of blood and clean wounds. It’s healing, I assure you.”

“Jensen, I am not one to cry witchcraft at natural remedies and acts,” Jared says. “Indeed, I am awed by your ability and willingness to help others. There is far more to you than just truth saying, I see.”

Jensen blushes, a tinge of pink traveling up his neck to the tips of his ears and it’s as charming as his hound, who has since returned to his master’s side.

Jared steps away from the railing. “Much as I wish I could remain here and learn more about you for the rest of the day, I fear I may have overstayed my welcome. Allow me to let you return to your duties.” Jared nods, “Always a pleasure, Jensen.”

Jared can feel green eyes follow him all the way to the castle doors.

***

The morning of All Fool’s Day dawns with a revelry rivaled only by that of yuletide. The children will not be contained on a date when they are actually allowed to act like clowns.

Jensen goes about his daily chores as inconspicuously as possible. He has discovered over the seasons that someone with the ability to scry truth has no place at a festival that centers on deliberate falsehoods.

It’s difficult to fool a truth sayer.

Tom chases the jesting children out of his blacksmith area more than once and Jensen grins to himself at the squeals and laughter he hears, even though he can’t take part. At least the premise of the day is lighthearted fun.

By the time the evening celebrations begin and the bonfires are lit, he makes his way to the food tables being lined with some of his favorite fair.

Kim smiles at him as she passes him a healthy portion of her famous lamb stew and Jensen’s stomach grumbles at the scent. He thanks her quietly and collects some of Christian’s decadent bread and cheese and sits at the end of a table by himself, just happy that he hadn’t been called to the castle to moderate an argument between villagers who took the day’s festivities too far.

The three bites he’d taken of his stew had just started to warm his stomach when a plate lands beside his and someone pops a knee over the bench to sit.

Jared’s smile is even more amazing by firelight and Jensen inhales sharply. It had been two days since Jared visited the stables and Jensen still finds himself breathless at the memory of watching the knight with Talon and Donovan.

Jensen trusts his animals’ instincts over everything save his own abilities and both feline and canine accepted Jared completely.

Indeed, seeing Jared treat Talon and Donovan with such care and tenderness had brought a rather peculiar tingle to Jensen’s stomach, one he hasn’t been able to fully forget.

“I’ve heard so much about this lamb stew, I just had to sample some for myself,” Jared announces.

“Jared,” Jensen whispers. “Knights are to celebrate in the castle with Lord Heyerdahl.”

Jared shrugs, takes a bite and moans loudly. “The stories are true. Gods, this is delicious.”

“It’s a speciality of Kim’s,” Jensen explains.

“I shall have to compliment the cook before retiring for the evening, then,” Jared concludes around a mouthful.

They eat in silence for a bit before Misha, Genevieve, Tom, Cindy, Steve and Mike descend on the table.

“Jensen, be sure to heed that spider by your plate,” Mike warns.

Jensen can’t help but jump back a little, only to find his place at the table free from arachnids.

Mike cackles and makes a mark on a piece of parchment.

Jensen raises an eyebrow in Misha’s direction and the other man explains, “He’s keeping tally of his successes on All Fool’s Day.”

Jensen nods and goes back to his plate.

“Surely we need an introduction to your friend, Jensen,” Cindy suggests.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to explain that Jared’s not his friend, Jensen’s not the kind to really have friends, but instead he says, “This is Jared.”

Tom swallows his bite and asks, “Is this who we have to thank for the bounty following the knight’s appointment?”

Jensen confirms.

“It was much appreciated, Jared,” Tom assures.

“Glad to be of service,” Jared defers. “But it’s truly Jensen that deserves the praise, for he would be the one to suffer upon discovery.”

Those around the table nod between bites.

Further introductions are made and before Jensen’s eyes, he watches Jared, a knight in Lord Heyerdahl’s garrison breaking bread and sharing stories and laughter with the people of the village.

It’s heretofore unheard of.

But Jared acts as though it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Indeed, by the time the sweetmeats are handed out, a few of the other knights have come in search of Jared, including Jeffrey Dean, Ty and Tahmoh.

Jared leads the introductions this time and Jensen’s amazed to find Jared remembers the names he’d been told and seems to blend the two worlds quite seamlessly.

In fact, before long Jeffrey Dean brings about the sweetest giggles from Kim’s lips and Ty and Tom heatedly discuss forging of various weapons.

Misha passes Jensen a cup of ale and, without thinking, Jensen takes a few sips. He enjoys the taste of Mike’s special brew, but knows better than to imbibe too much.

Mike tends to give his malt liquor a powerful kick for the special celebrations.

As the festivities move closer to the warmth of the fires, Jensen takes a seat on the outskirts — content, as always, to observe from the edges.

The children somehow manage to talk Jared into a game of Hoodman’s Blind -- Jeffrey Dean suggests this is how he came by the nickname Jared the Brave -- and Jensen can’t help but chuckle as cloth is wrapped around Jared’s eyes and he immediately reaches out, grasping for one of the children.

The little ones squeal in delight and scurry away just in time.

Despite Jared’s height and reach, the children lead him on a merry chase, much to the delight of the adults. After the good part of an hour passes, Jensen suspects that Jared’s able to see more than he lets on because the children he catches are swept rather gracefully and without a single stumble into his arms, the air whooshed from their lungs in a typically raucous laugh.

Jensen takes another sip of ale and tells himself he’s not jealous of the children being held so securely off the ground in Jared’s strong arms.

He’s just dizzy enough to believe it.

By the time the game has ended and Jared has successfully captured each child, their excitement turns to groans when the parents announce their bedtime.

Jared soothes them and assures that he will play other games with them throughout the coming days as time allows.

This, and a special stash of sweet candies from somewhere in Jared’s tunic, subdues them enough to follow their parents.

It’s then that Christian arrives from the castle’s kitchen and Steve produces his lute.

The two begin their melodies with a few high-spirited numbers and by the time more of Mike’s ale is passed around, the tunes become a bit bawdy.

It’s late when the love songs begin and Genevieve finds a home with Misha as her backrest and Kim slides a little closer to Jeffrey Dean.

Jensen sighs and he knows he’s had far too much ale when he allows loneliness to take hold in his throat. It’s a feeling he’d learned to bury for many years. It’s inexplicable why it’s emerged on this evening, but watching his friends delight in one another’s nearness and touch has him melancholy and aching a bit.

Footsteps crunch out of the darkness at his left and Jensen jumps, sloshing a bit of what’s left of his drink onto his hand.

“My apologies,” Jared whispers as he settles in beside Jensen, as though it’s perfectly acceptable to do so. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jensen shakes his head and hand at the same time. “I…” he clears his suddenly clogged throat and tries again, “I’m not really used to people coming up to me.”

“And why is that?” Jared questions as he takes a sip from his own cup and leans back against the same log Jensen uses for a backrest.

Jensen lifts his shoulders in a gesture of uncertainty and is surprised to find he can feel Jared’s body heat bleed into his bicep. “I imagine not many people would ch-chose to be in the company of a truth sayer.”

“I think your imagination may run away with you a bit, Jensen.”

“Is that so?”

Jared nods. “You have more friends than you realize. Everyone speaks very highly of you.”

“I help them when they’re feeling poorly. They’re grateful. It’s not the same as true friendship,” Jensen concludes.

“I would beg to differ,” Jared counters. “I am very grateful for my friends when they help me.”

“I make people nervous, Jared.”

“Those who are less than genuine, yes, I imagine you would,” Jared agrees. “But not those who are honorable.”

Jensen sighs and drains his cup, somewhat worried that the lights of the fire seem to radiate with an extra wide glow tonight and his head feels a bit addled.

He might be leaning a little toward Jared, but that’s probably just his mussed perception. “I th-think sometimes it’s because I don’t have a lineage.”

Jared’s eyebrows lift a fraction. “You don’t?”

Jensen shakes his head, but has to stop pretty quickly because the world tilts rather alarmingly. “I was found when I was just a little child. In the woods.”

“What do you remember of that time?” Jared wonders.

“Very little, actually,” Jensen confesses, and drifts closer to Jared. “I was just lucky that the villagers at Greenbriar Manor took me in.”

Jared nods and holds Jensen closer — how did his arm end up around Jensen’s shoulders? Jensen knows he should protest, but Jared’s far warmer than the distant fire and it feels amazing. “I’m lucky to have found Jeffrey Dean,” Jared murmurs.

Jensen looks up and Jared’s right there. So close. “You…” Jensen starts. “You really don’t know where your family is, either?”

“My first memory is the streets of Canterbury,” Jared says. “I had to fend for myself, feed myself, until I met Jeffrey Dean.”

Jensen stays quiet, a little lost in Jared’s eyes. “That must have been really frightening.”

Jared shrugs, “You learn quickly how to survive.”

“I’m glad you did,” Jensen confesses.

Jared smiles. “I’m glad I answered Greenbriar’s advertisement for knights.”

In some way, it only makes sense that Jared closes the scant distance between them and connects their lips, but Jensen is in no way prepared for the effect. Just like in the great hall, pleasure eclipses Jensen’s senses, but it’s shocking the difference in sensitivity between his hand and his mouth and how in some way his lips seem connected to his stomach because his belly dips warmly with more than just the drink he’d consumed.

A small sound of astonishment slips out of Jensen’s throat and he tilts closer to Jared, seeking more of the delicious friction stirred up by their lips rubbing together.

Jensen has seen other people in the village kiss and a tingling curiosity of what it would feel like would take hold, but the truth of his existence would always drown any consideration before it really set in.

Now, with Jared, and the wild exhilaration his touch brings, Jensen doesn’t have to wonder — he can experience the dizzying heat of the thickening feeling deep in his belly on his own.

He never thought it would be possible.

He whimpers a little as he drags his fingers through Jared’s hair — soft, so soft — and he jolts a little at the first touch of Jared’s tongue. The yielding flesh tickles just inside his bottom lip and Jensen goes with his instincts and opens his mouth, tangling their tongues together.

The rough sound Jared makes blows through Jensen like a strong wind, building the warmth in his stomach, like adding fuel to a fire.

It’s when Jensen’s cock grows heavy enough that his trousers become uncomfortable, that reality crashes back to Jensen in an untamed lurch and he sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back from Jared’s touch, pushing a little against his chest, scanning their whereabouts to see if anyone noticed their dalliances.

The attention of those gathered at the bonfire is still on Christian and Steve and their ballads.

As he realizes what they’d gotten away with, Jensen absently reaches for his still-tingling mouth, fingers covering his lips, shocked at how puffy they’d become. He turns back with a murmured, “Jared…”

“Ah, my sweet one,” Jared whispers. “How superbly we will burn together.”

Jared’s fingers skim up along Jensen’s chest and join Jensen’s own on his mouth, testing the plush resiliency of Jensen’s lips. Acting purely on a sudden need, Jensen licks out, tongue sweeping the whorls of Jared’s fingertip and it’s thrilling to hear Jared gasp.

“Gorgeous green-eyed man,” Jared leans forward, brushing their foreheads together. “You may be the very death of me.”

It’s too much — it’s too good — it’s dawn after a lifetime of night, and it scares Jensen to his very soul.

He’d told himself for years he wasn’t meant to know pleasure at another’s touch — especially not a man.

This isn’t meant to be.

He scrabbles backwards, nearly feeling a physical wrench at separating himself from Jared as he stutters, “We c-can’t…it’s w-wrong. Jared, it’s wrong.”

Without a backward glance, he flees to the safety of his stables and his hound’s deeply loyal brown eyes.

***

It’s late afternoon a few days later and rain falls in a steady stream, soaking the grounds and the cottages. Despite having the hood on his cloak up, Jensen still feels the mist on his face, bringing a slight chill. His boots squish in the mud as he makes his way through the woods to where his herbs grow most plentiful. It's been time to get the roots on a few of the plants for days now and he hopes he hasn't waited too long.

He's careful when he arrives at the spot so as not to tramp on any of the budding flowers. Those will have to be harvested later, when they're closer to full bloom. Crawling on his knees is the easiest -- although not the cleanest -- way to gather the roots he needs.

He wants to be quick about the collection because he knows that spending too much time in the wet weather can bring a chill and he can't have the cold to make it to his bones -- he doesn't need to fall ill.

He’s tired from lack of sleep recently. Dreams and memories of Jared seem to plague him, but instead of dread, they bring a thrill Jensen has never before known.

The recollection of Jared’s kisses alone have spurred Jensen to spill his seed in his own hand enough times in the past few nights that he feels ashamed.

He should have more control. He should know better. It’s just...he’s never before had an actual experience to think of when he pleasures himself.

It’s quite unseemly.

He tries to tell himself it was Mike’s ale that made him respond so lustfully to Jared’s touches, but Jensen’s always had a difficult time lying to himself.

Despite his need to hurry with his collection, his wayward thoughts and the care he must take make it a slow, soggy process -- he has to get as many of the roots as he can to make the poultice to rid the coughs brought on by the change in seasons -- and he's uninterrupted for a while before he hears sodden footsteps behind him.

Jared's smile can be heard in his words. "I searched the village for the truth sayer and did not believe it when I was told he was in the forest. I hadn’t heard the drawbridge lowered, but apparently there’s a bolt hole for escape in the western wall. Still I didn’t believe it. Certainly he would know enough to come in out of the rain."

It’s been days since Jensen has seen the handsome knight and time has not diminished his reaction.

Even soaking wet, Jared’s one of most attractive people Jensen’s ever seen.

Jensen wants to remain unaffected by Jared -- has told himself it might be possible if he remains strong enough -- but just the sound of his voice warms Jensen’s blood, even in the face of driving rain. He looks up around his hood from his position on the ground and can't stop his lips from tilting up. "The roots are easiest to gather when it's wet. I have a better chance of getting them all that way."

Jared peers around Jensen's shoulder to the underground stem he's cautiously pulling out of the soil and asks, "Couldn't you wait until the rain actually stopped to pick them?"

Jensen shrugs, "I could, but the rain makes it easier to get the truly stubborn ones. Besides, if it wasn't raining, who would come warn me of the bad weather?”

He doesn’t know where the teasing tone comes from, but he’s unable to quell the sudden need for a little lighthearted jest. He risks a glance to Jared's face and finds that characteristic twinkle in his hazel eyes as he squats down next to Jensen.

"There's a chance I would have come to you no matter the conditions," Jared murmurs. "I find I enjoy your company."

Jensen's muddy fingers pause as his chest warms at Jared's words. "Surely there's a training session somewhere in which you should be participating?"

Jared shakes his head, water droplets falling to his shoulders. "On the contrary, the rain has pushed all but the perimeter guards into the castle and the walls were closing in on me. Although it doesn't take much for me to seek you out. May I help?"

"It's actually quite filthy work. Are you certain you want to take part?"

Jared's grin is pure mischief. "It would appear I need to work on truly introducing myself to you, for you should know how much I thoroughly enjoy dirt...have since I was a boy. You should see my mud pies."

Jensen laughs, skin flushing with the sensation. "Does Christian have competition for his sweetmeats?"

"Oh, indeed, he would." Jared winks.

Jensen's surprised to find the rain has grown suddenly warm, although he believes it likely has more to do with his companion than any actual change in the temperature. The judicious thing to do would be to send Jared on his way, but he finds his can’t.

With a deep breath, and mentally bidding caution a farewell, Jensen explains how to pull up the roots with a thoroughness he worries could come across as pretentious, but Jared seems intent on every word, almost as though he understands the importance of making sure it's done correctly even without being told.

"And what will you use these for when you get them back?"

"I'll crush them into a kind of paste that works well on coughs and colds for the villagers,” Jensen replies.

"I see," Jared says, somewhat distractedly, as he had already begun separating roots from the soil.

Jensen grins at Jared's focused concentration and goes back to the stem he has in his hand.

They work for a while with only the feel and patter of the rain as conversation. It’s comfortable and…odd. Jensen’s used to being alone -- it's rare he has company and when he does, it's usually offputting. Sometimes it's not only the touch of another person that he finds disagreeable, but their presence as well.

With Jared it’s completely different, his nearness is a balm to Jensen's nerves, not unlike the lavender he covets.

It leaves Jensen more than a bit unsettled.

The current root system on which he's working has him muddy almost to his forearm -- it's got quite a hold on the earth and doesn't want to surrender its purchase. A frustrated sound slips past his lips without Jensen's permission and Jared looks up through his dripping bangs.

"Problem?"

Jensen huffs, "A stubborn one is all."

"Can you not just give it a good yank?" Jared wonders.

With a shake of his head, Jensen says, "Getting the whole root system makes the poultice that much stronger. If I leave some in the ground, it's more I can't give to the villagers." Jensen shifts his weight a bit, trying for a different angle, but the tenacious stem stays stuck. He growls a bit, "Makes me wish I had ten more hands to keep the soil from falling back around the roots."

"Well," Jared starts, shuffling across the wet ground, careful not to crush any herbs on his way. "I cannot provide ten hands, but I do have two that are most definitely at your service."

Before Jensen can respond, Jared slides his fingers into the soggy soil alongside Jensen's and even through the layer of mud the shock of pleasure makes Jensen gasp.

He told himself it was all in his head. That Jared's skin couldn't possibly continue to bring such gratification every time they come together, that is was just an anomaly that couldn't be explained, and yet Jensen shivers with thrilling heat even on his knees in the driving rain.

He's never before wanted to lean into the touch of another person, but with Jared he's found himself yearning for that which he's never known.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Jared assures.

Jensen tries to calm his breathing, but Jared's rubbing his slick fingers back and forth along Jensen's palm in what is likely supposed to be a comforting motion, but the contact sends firebursts of sensation all along Jensen's forearm and he can't quell the flurried beat of his heart in response.

"You didn't," Jensen whispers, glancing up through the rain to find Jared watching him with an intent expression. "I just…"

"You what?" Jared asks, turning his hand so he can thread their fingers together.

Jensen never knew the webbing at the top of his palm could be so sensitive to the skin of another person. "Jared…"

"What, green eyes?" Jared murmurs, "Do I startle you?"

Jensen wants to say yes. It is shocking the reaction Jared's able to produce, but it's not born of fear. Not in the truest sense of the word.

"No," Jensen answers softly. "I just…don't mind when you…"

"When I what?"

"Touch me," Jensen finishes.

"And that's unusual?" Jared questions.

Jensen nods. "Very. It matters not whether I'm s-scrying for truth or someone takes my arm, it's uncomfortable for me to touch another person."

Jared's left eyebrow rises in skepticism and he lifts their joined hands. "This is bothersome for you?"

Jensen shakes his head and can't help sliding his fingers along Jared's mud-slicked ones just to feel the slippery friction. "No. That's what m-makes it so surprising. I've never known anyone whose touch could bring this kind of pleasure."

"Ah, green eyes," Jared's voice has dropped at least two octaves. "I could show you so much more."

Jared pulls, only slightly, dragging Jensen closer. Jensen can tell from the intense look in Jared's eyes that he seeks another kiss.

And Jensen wants it, so badly. He wants to get lost in Jared's lips on his own, drink the rain from his skin to see how different it tastes from the collection in the bailey's cisterns. The need is so engulfing, it does, actually frighten him for a second and he jerks back, blinking rain from his eyes and says, "I n-need to gather the roots."

Jensen’s focus returns to the ground and Jared releases him.

After a few moments of stillness from Jared, Jensen murmurs, “I’m sorry, Jared. I am not accustomed to being comfortable with another’s touch. It’s disquieting.”

“May I still help you with the persistent root?”

Jensen glances up and finds Jared hesitant, but still willing, and Jensen whispers, “Please.”

With Jared’s assistance Jensen gathers a satchel full of roots in half the time it would have taken him by himself. And, amazingly, Jared’s satisfying touch becomes less of a shock and more of a persistent gratification. There’s a slight hum of joy just under his skin that once he realizes truly is coming from Jared -- that it’s not going away -- it’s easier to accept.

Jensen straps his satchel across his shoulders. “Thank you, Jared. This would have been double the task without you.”

Jared cups his hands and lets the rainwater gather so he can wash away the mud before spearing his fingers through his sopping hair and spraying the ground behind him in an effort to get the saturated locks out of his face. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Jensen chuckles. “That’s highly doubtful. You must be soaked to the skin.”

Jared shrugs, even as the rainwater courses down his face. “Knowing that my assistance will bring easement to the villagers suffering soothes whatever irritation I may have experienced, of which I assure you there was very little.”

Jensen nods.

“It is a knight’s honor to help where he’s able,” Jared concludes.

“And a fine knight you are, Jared,” Jensen assures. “Now, let us both show our wisdom and get out of this wretched weather.”

The trip back to the village is quiet, save for the splatter of rain.

The bolthole is tight for Jensen -- he cannot imagine how confining crawling through the hole in the stone wall must feel for Jared. The masons made the wall thick so as to be difficult to penetrate, so the passageway is longer than one expects to travel. And it’s small -- it need to be to stay hidden from those who would attempt to take the manor by stealth and sneakery.

The respite from the torrential rain is welcome, but getting beyond the damp, confining dark rock is equally well received.

Jared follows Jensen to the stables, but before he takes his leave, Jensen says, “I have a sachet of herbs for you. If you place it under your head while you sleep this eve, it should keep you from contracting a cough from your afternoon in the rain.”

Jared nods and accompanies Jensen inside.

Jensen hands Jared a linen cloth, “For your hair. Dry off a bit. You must get out of those wet clothes.”

Jared’s grin tilts wickedly from under the material as he tosses off his cloak and reaches for the hem of his tunic, “With pleasure.”

Jensen gasps at the flash of skin he’s shown, “Jared, no, I meant when you get back to your quarters.”

But the image takes root in Jensen’s mind. Soft skin, with only a small line of hair leading into the waist of Jared’s trousers and for the first time in his life, Jensen’s fingers itch to touch another person. He wonders what Jared would look like -- feel like -- without his clothes and the thought heats his blood far more than getting out of the rain ever could.

What would Jared taste like there? Shock at the question shivers all the way to Jensen’s toes.

Shaking himself out of his sudden stupor, Jensen tries to soak as much water off himself as he can, while he searches a drawer for the sachet of herbs he mentioned.

When he turns back, Jared is a bit drier and thankfully still clothed, but he has a twinkle in his eye Jensen can’t ignore. When he pockets the sachet Jensen hands him, Jared murmurs: “I have no form of payment.”

Jensen’s breath shakes in his chest. “None is required.”

“Not even a kiss to keep the chill at bay?”

The question seems innocent enough, but the fire that licks its way along Jensen’s spine tells him the result will not be chaste. “Jared…”

Jared steps closer and Jensen swears he can see steam rise from Jared’s wet clothes, just from the heat of his body alone.

“I assure you, it will only be in gratitude,” Jared persuades.

Despite his quandary, Jensen wants. Be it the warmth he knows Jared’s touch will bring or the sensation of Jared’s mouth once again, he wants.

Deliberately ignoring the voice of reason in his mind, he moves closer and Jared smiles.

“If it will relieve your worry, I shall keep my hands behind my back,” Jared murmurs, while shifting his arms around his hips to rest at his tailbone.

The lure, the temptation is too great. Like a moth to a flame or a fish to a baited hook, Jensen slides to his tiptoes and connects their mouths.

He intends for it to be quick and fleeting, merely receiving the thank you for the sachet, but once he gets a taste -- Jared’s lips still a little wet from the rain -- he finds he cannot relinquish the sensation.

And the scent -- by the gods, the dampness has brought out the true masculine musk of Jared’s body and Jensen inhales sharply through his nose, wanting to immerse himself in Jared’s natural spice.

True to his word, Jared doesn’t move, save for his lips in response to Jensen.

With a sound of impatience, Jensen wraps his arms around Jared’s neck and pulls himself higher, tighter against Jared’s body, wanting more of the all-consuming feelings he’d experienced in the shadows of the fire that night.

He even twines his fingers in Jared’s wet hair and is rewarded with a soft hum from Jared’s chest.

“Jared,” he whines, suddenly mindless in the face of what he knows he could experience but is unable to produce.

Jared whispers against Jensen’s mouth. “You require more?”

Without thinking of the consequences, Jensen whispers, “Yes.”

Jared moves all at once, twisting his head to deepen this kiss and unlocking his arms from behind his back. Jensen’s swept even further off his feet and held tightly against Jared, their damp clothes rubbing together, bringing warmth and friction and heightened sensation.

Jensen whimpers against Jared’s mouth, but tries to squirm even closer.

Jared grabs handfuls of Jensen’s trousers, just below his buttocks, and yanks them together with a rough grunt. “Feel what you do to me. Even through the wet and damp, my sword burns to know your sheath.”

Jensen’s own cock his throbbing against his undergarments, leaking wet and slippery. Shivering so sweetly against another person -- with another person -- is so novel, so unprecedented it steals his breath, common sense and faculties.

Jensen loses track of everything except the feel and taste of Jared.

A sound from the bailey, likely nothing more than a cistern being emptied to collect more rainwater, wrenches Jensen suddenly back to where they actually are, how near they are to other people, how little it would take for someone to open the stable door and witness their incredibly heated liaison.

How utterly, utterly wrong it is.

Jensen’s surprised to find how much strength it takes to tear himself out of Jared’s grip -- not because Jared holds him too tightly, quite the contrary, Jared releases him with a disapproving whimper, but he does let go.

No, the strength required is more because of Jensen’s body’s own, intimate protest. It’s difficult to separate himself -- to step back -- from such golden, dazzling pleasure. Especially when he’s only just discovered it.

Gasping for breath, he fists his fingers in Jared’s wet tunic. “J-Jared, gods, we can’t..”

Jared’s still got his hands on Jensen’s hips and he tries to reel him back in. “I assure you, sweetling, we can.”

Jared’s mouth is red and wet from their kisses and Jensen knows Jared’s arms are warm and he wants to just slide right back in, get lost, so lost he no longer cares about the village or its people or Lord Heyerdahl or right and wrong.

But the one lesson Jensen has continually learned from life since he was six summers is that wanting something doesn’t make it his to take.

He’s just not meant for that which others know.

He shakes his head. “It’s wrong, Jared. You know that.”

Jared stops trying to get closer and instead cups Jensen’s hand against his chest. “Quite the contrary, Jensen. It’s only wrong if consent is not given.”

“Men are not supposed to want other men, Jared,” Jensen persists. “It goes against the gods and the church and the need for heirs.”

“You would be surprised how many men I’ve known throughout the lands who care not about what is supposed to be done.”

“It’s not natural.”

“Pleasure isn’t natural?” Jared’s eyebrow quirks.

Jensen huffs and steps back, breaking contact. Only then does he feel the cold and damp. “You twist my words. We cannot be together like that. Please, Jared. I…” his voice gets caught for a moment, “I’m enough of an outcast. This perversion will only make it moreso.”

Jared drops his arms, but there’s still determination in his stance and his tone is soft. “You are wrong, green eyes,” he uncurls the wet linen from his shoulders and places it on a nearby table. “One day I will prove to you how natural it can be.”

The stable door shuts quietly behind Jared and Jensen shivers, but this time the chill comes not from the rain as much as the hot promise in Jared’s words.

***

When notification of the planned hunt comes down three days later, Jensen makes sure to have the horses saddled and ready. Lord Heyerdahl has arranged to train his knights on the finer points of using the dogs to bring down prey.

Donovan and his pack are essentially prancing in place when Lord Heyerdahl and a select few knights, Jared included, make their way to the kennels after the morning meal.

“The hounds will drive the prey towards us,” Lord Heyerdahl explains. “Take the shot only if you’re certain of the kill. We cannot squander the arrows. This isn’t a practice, that’s what the archery range is for. If an arrow flies, make certain it hits your target.”

The knights nod their agreement and without a word to Jensen, Lord Heyerdahl mounts his horse and sets out.

Jared grins and winks at Jensen as he turns to follow.

“Blessings of the gods go with you,” Jensen murmurs, even though the garrison has already moved across the drawbridge.

He unlatches the kennel and doesn’t even try to give Donovan a pat -- the hound is far too intent on the hunt. Jensen is merely a means to an end at the moment, not the best friend who provides leftovers from meals and space on the bed.

The dogs rush past, only a few howls and barks in accompaniment. They know what’s required of them when they’re released and the scent and trail of prey is a powerful lure. Somehow they know with a canine instinct they need to make as little noise as possible.

As Jensen watches the pack stream out around the horses, he sighs to himself.

Hunts are both parts fortuitous and distressing.

Christian certainly looks forward to the bounty that will return.

And with the stables essentially free from hound and equine alike, Jensen takes the time to muck them properly. It gives him the uninterrupted chance to thoroughly cleanse the area and it’s one of the few times he’s able to do so without having to maneuver around paws and hooves.

At the same time, Jensen’s stomach knots with worry until all have returned safely.

***

With the sound of horses hooves and the clinking of chain-mail and swords alike, Jared wonders how they have any hope of locating their prey. Any deer or foul worth its name will have heard them coming from miles away.

He’s about to suggest stealth might be more advantageous than brute force when a single hound breaks away from the pack with a vicious snarl and leaps to the right of the road.

Jared recognizes Donovan immediately and wonders what had gotten into the dog. The canines hadn’t been given the signal to find the scent. He gets his answer seconds later when a twisted pile of growling fur tumbles back out of the trees.

It’s a wolf and Donovan has the creature by the meat of its front leg as they skid across the ground.

The wolf must have been stalking the hunting party, waiting for the chance to strike.

Luckily, Donovan had sniffed it out first and didn’t wait for permission to attack.

Jared grabs for his bow and quiver of arrows, like others around him, and with his thighs alone, bades his horse to take the necessary steps to give him a clear shot.

Lord Heyerdahl’s voice rings out over the fray. “Nay! No arrows are to be wasted!”

“It is not a waste to protect the hounds!” Jared shouts as he sights down the arrow, trying to aim for the wolf’s chest. It’s a difficult shot because the animals are not stationary and he cannot risk hitting Donovan.

“Stay the arrows!” Lord Heyerdahl bellows.

Jared hesitates only until he hears Donovan’s high-pitched shriek, ending on a wet sound that tears into Jared like nothing before. His instincts tell him the wolf had found Donovan’s neck, but he doesn’t take a second to think about what that will mean to Jensen.

He needs his concentration and aim right now. Thinking about Jensen will betray his focus.

When the animals finally roll so that the wolf stands over its victim, Jared knows he’s got the shot and he takes it.

The arrow flies across the distance, straight and true and directly into the wolf’s heart. The animal falls to the ground between one breath and the next.

Dead.

Lord Heyerdahl turns to Jared, “T’is unwise to go against your lord’s commands on the hunt.”

Jared lowers his bow and narrows his eyes. “It is ill advised to allow a wolf to gain the upper hand. Once he’d finished with Donovan, he’d surely turn on the rest of the party. No arrows were wasted. The shot was clean.”

“A knight that doesn’t listen is no good to me,” Heyerdahl practically snarls.

“A knight that doesn’t do everything he can to protect the hunting party isn’t worthy of the name,” Jared counters.

Heyerdahl seethes, but spins both his horse and attention to those closest to the hound. “Pick up the body. We can use it to lure the scavenger foul at least.”

It’s only when Jared hears the body that he realizes the enormity of what just occurred. Donovan lies a foot away from the wolf, his neck open from the sharp teeth of the creature and Jared feels his heart break for Jensen.

He and Donovan had been nearly inseparable.

Jared exhales raggedly. Had he only been able to get a better shot sooner, the fatal bite may never have been able to be rendered.

He closes his eyes just as he senses Jeffrey Dean move beside him.

“It’s always a risk, Jared,” Jeffrey Dean murmurs.

Jared shakes his head. “I should have been quicker.”

“I don’t know that a faster response would have been humanly possible.”

Insult is added to the injury when a few miles down the road, Lord Heyerdahl tosses Donovan’s body to the ground and commands the knights to be still and keep an eye on the skies.

Jared cannot bring himself to release a single arrow on any of the birds of prey.

He remembers Jensen introducing the hound, not a month prior, and the evident love and loyalty present between the two and Jared’s heart contracts once again.

Jared isn’t certain how Jensen will manage without his four-legged friend.

***

The hunt lasts well into midday and by the time the sound of horse hooves can be heard in the distance, Jensen has just finished his chores. When the party comes into view, Jensen silently counts heads of the knights and is glad to see all have returned.

And from the looks of the saddles, it appears as though success was found.

He moves closer to the drawbridge with the rest of the village just as Lord Heyerdahl’s horse canters in.

Jensen frowns at the body draped across Lord Heyerdahl’s saddle. The fur is far too white for that of a deer or stag. Confusion muddles Jensen’s mind, but as his lord draws nearer, horror settles in his stomach, the likes of which he’s never before known.

With an aversion better left to the castle rodents, Lord Heyerdahl knees the body off his saddle.

Donovan lands in a heap at Jensen’s feet, bloody and utterly still.

Violent tremors quiver along Jensen’s arms and he immediately thinks of the poultices and rubs he will need to get Donovan well once again.

Wintergreen for the pain. Lavender to calm him. Tea tree and thyme for the wounds.

He’ll get better. He will.

Jensen’s chanting this to himself even as Lord Heyerdahl proclaims: “These are the consequences of your coddling. You think I don’t know that you allowed the dog to sleep in your cottage at night? Nothing happens in this village about which I don’t know. You made the canine soft and this is the result. I have little use for a hound that cannot stay alive on the hunt.”

As if from a distance, Jensen hears chain-mail seething and swirling behind him from the gathered knights, but his attention is solely on the hound at his lord’s feet. He’s barely able to note the conversation going on around him.

Lord Heyerdahl addresses someone over Jensen’s shoulder. “You have an issue you would like to discuss?”

Clove for infection. Jensen can see the dirt and pus seeping from the neck wound. He’ll need to get water boiling as soon as they get back to the kennel to cleanse the pup.

The tonics will work.

Jensen’s vision grows watery.

They will work.

Donovan’s motionless, but Jensen has seen animals regain health.

Donovan will get better.

He’ll run across the bailey to Jensen once more, ears flapping and joyous canine grin on his face.

He will.

He’ll steal linens at night and bread at the morning meal and he’ll favor Jensen with his kisses once more.

He will.

“Take the weapons to the armory and the bounty to the kitchen staff,” Lord Heyerdahl commands before dismounting with haste and striding toward the castle.

Jensen knows he needs to corral the horses, but he has eyes only for the hound at his feet and the myriad of herbs that will help his friend recover.

Absently he senses others, likely Misha and Tom, gather the horses as the knights disperse and the remaining hounds wander somewhat aimlessly around Jensen and Donovan. Jensen waves his hands to brush the flies away from Donovan’s wounds, thinking again to the cleansing that must be done.

He’s so intent on the list of salves and tonics forming in his head that he reaches to Donovan without thinking, without preparing himself.

The skin is cold and the hound does not respond at all -- there’s no reaction in any way, breath or heartbeat or warmth, even through Jensen’s clairvoyant scrying ability.

No.

It cannot be true. Donovan is always so alive and merry and jubilant. This stillness, this chill is wholly unnatural.

No.

Jensen gets nothing, no canine loyalty, no triumphant love, and the lack of the emotions cuts him far deeper than any sword or knife could.

He gathers what’s left of his friends in his arms and unleashes his grief into the cold fur.

***

Jared seethes, “By the blood of the gods, Jeffrey Dean, that hound saved our lives! Why would you keep me from disclosing that?”

When Lord Heyerdahl had dumped Donovan at Jensen’s feet, Jared had risen half out of the saddle with an open mouth only to be stayed by Jeffrey Dean’s hand on his forearm. It had taken an immense effort to remain silent at Heyerdahl’s baiting question.

Jeffrey Dean’s calm tone as they return their weapons to the armory only riles Jared further. “Surrounded by all the village in the middle of the bailey is not the place to contradict the lord of this manor.”

“It is the perfect place,” Jared counters. “How else are the villagers to know who they truly work for and what kind of man he is?”

“They know, Jared.”

Jared clenches his teeth. “It still doesn’t make it right. Something needs to be done.”

Jeffrey Dean tacks his bow up on the hook in the armory and glances around them for the fifth time since they arrived. “And what would you do? Hmm? Petition King Richlings?”

With narrowed eyes, Jared replies, “Perhaps. Maybe an audience with the King would bring to light the ill treatment of those in Greenbriar Manor at the hand of its lord.”

“And what would you say to him?” Jeffrey Dean whispers. “Would you tell him of the hound lost in the hunt, something that is always a threat every time the garrison steps foot outside the walls of this keep?”

“I would tell him that the manner of his death could have been explained more thoroughly.”

“And you believe the King would concern himself with the manner of a hound’s death?” Jeffrey Dean scoffs. “Jared. I taught you better than that.”

“Heyerdahl should have explained,” Jared insists.

“To whom?”

Jared drops his eyes to the empty armory. “To Jensen.”

“And surely King Richlings will halt his parliamentary duties to intercede in a matter best left to a lord and his vassals.”

Jared draws his shoulders up, prepared for the fight he didn’t get earlier. “Why do you persist in this discourse? Do you not feel it wrong to treat people in such a way?”

Jeffrey Dean steps forward, a formidable wall against Jared’s ire. “Of course I do, but stop and think. Think. What you’re suggesting hints of mutiny. Mutiny, Jared. You cannot go to the King with talk of a hound dead from a hunt. You need far more than that. If you are not careful, you may find your own neck in the very noose you’re hoping for Heyerdahl.”

Jared deflates. Logically, he knows Jeffrey Dean speaks the truth, but he cannot abide mistreatment of anyone -- human, canine or otherwise.

“You know there’s been talk of war, Jared,” Jeffrey Dean continues. “King Richlings will certainly be preoccupied with maintaining peace in the kingdoms. As should we.”

“I desire peace as much as anyone in Greenbriar Manor,” Jared assures. “But…”

Jeffrey Dean reaches out to pat Jared’s arm. “Be smart about this, my friend. Choose your battles wisely. The dog’s death is grievous, I agree, but t’is not something you can present as a valid reason for Lord Heyerdahl’s ousting. You know this, much as you don’t want to admit it.”

Jared sighs, but says nothing.

“Do what you can for now,” Jeffrey Dean advises. “Go to Jensen. Comfort him as best as you are able. He’s the one who needs you at the moment. I will tell the others your assistance was required in the fields. Keep Heyerdahl for another day.”

The rage, pain and grief for what Jensen has to endure is still there, but Jared attempts to temper it, for without an outlet, it does no good.

“Trust me?” Jeffrey Dean inquires with a tilt of his head.

And Jared is a child again, finding solace in the brown eyes of his friend and mentor, the closest figure to a father he’s had, and that same feeling of comfort washes through him, just like it did when he was a youngling.

Jared smiles, claps Jeffrey Dean on the shoulder. “Always, my friend. And thank you.”

Jared can see understanding in Jeffrey Dean’s eyes as he moves around the other man to the door of the armory and crosses the bailey with purposeful strides.

Jared hesitates when he nears the stables, uncertain what to say to Jensen to soothe the loss. He would much prefer to settle this at the point of a sword, but Jeffrey Dean is correct -- attacking Heyerdahl over this would only hurt any petition Jared might hope to make.

He knocks softly, and upon getting no response, clicks the latch open slowly.

Jensen sits in the dirt and hay, Donovan across his lap, and Jared’s heart all but shatters in his chest at the abject misery that’s evident in the slope of Jensen’s shoulders and his ragged breathing.

Jared steps cautiously into the room and whispers: “Jensen.”

Jensen’s attention remains on the hound in his arms, but he murmurs in a voice clogged by tears and anguish, “He’s right, you know...Lord Heyerdahl. I m-made him soft.”

Jared closes the distance between them and goes to his knees immediately. “Jensen, no. No, you didn’t.”

“He did sleep...” Jensen chokes on the word, “w-with me. He...he was my f-friend, Jared,” and at this Jensen raises his eyes, red-rimmed and swollen. “I couldn’t help it, even though I know I sh-should have. H-He should have been a h-hunter first and m-my friend second.”

Jared shakes his head, “Jensen, listen to me--”

“But, when I t-touched him, I could s-sense his loyalty and l-love and it h-helped me feel not s-so alone…” Jensen shudders and lowers his head again. “I didn’t know...it could get h-him killed…”

Jared reaches out, takes a hold of Jensen’s hand, and it must be the agony and charged atmosphere in the room, but Jared swears for a second, he can feel Jensen’s pain -- a shooting, burning sensation fires up his arm and it’s as though Jared can feel what Jensen does.

The power and shock of it renders him speechless in its wake.

“I sh-should not have f-friends,” Jensen continues, throat constricted and raw. “I know this...have known it s-since I was but a young b-boy. Is th-this what happens to my friends, Jared?”

Jared blinks a few times and shakes himself out of his stupor, holds Jensen’s hand tighter. “I need you to hear me, Jensen.”

“N-Nothing good comes from knowing me, Jared,” Jensen chokes out.

Jared leans closer, sliding the fingers of his free hand up Jensen’s neck to grip the back of his head, forcing Jensen to make eye contact again. “Stop. Stop for one moment and listen to me, alright?”

Jensen trembles -- lips, eyes, chin. “Jared…”

“Shhh,” Jared whispers. “Only for a moment. Listen.”

Jensen clutches Donovan tighter, but remains silent.

“Donovan found a wolf,” Jared begins. “None of the hunting party knew it was there. He attacked the wolf to keep us safe. He did not wait for a command. He saw a threat and attempted to dispose of it.”

Jensen coughs a wet sound.

Jared twists his wrist between Jensen’s hand and Donovan’s body and connects their fingers. “I know you can sense the truth of my words. Listen to more than the pain that you’re feeling and know the truth of what I am saying.”

Jensen’s wide eyes track a single tear down his cheek, but his focus is solely on Jared.

“He was the bravest hound I have ever known,” Jared murmurs. “He learned that loyalty and protection from you. I assure you, had he not alerted us to the predator, we could have been attacked at any time. The wolf could have followed us to the manor and done unknown damage. Donovan kept that from happening and it is because you taught him that level of devotion. He was a special dog who was lucky to have you as a friend.”

Jensen collapses, literally falls forward against Jared’s chest and Jared gathers him close, even with the dog still between them, thinking only about Donovan’s selflessness in the hopes that if Jensen can’t hear the meaning in his actual spoken words, he’ll at least be able to sense the truth of what really happened on the hunt through the physical connection.

“Do not let Lord Heyerdahl’s careless words hurt you any more than they already have,” Jared says softly. “He is incorrect, Jensen. Donovan’s death was heroic. Do not believe otherwise.”

Jared scratches his fingers through Jensen’s uneven hair, offering solace with his touch, presence and unspoken knowledge.

Time becomes nearly unmeasurable as they sit in the stable, dust mites floating around the rays of afternoon sun and Jared realizes he would truly stay on the dirt floor as long as Jensen needed him.

Eventually, though, Jensen pulls back and whispers, “Will you...help me b-bury him?”

“Of course. Do you know where you would like to lay him to rest?”

Wiping his eyes and cheeks on the sleeve of his tunic, Jensen clears his throat. “I w-would like him nearby. P-Perhaps right outside the stables?”

Jared agrees and helps Jensen carry the hound just beyond the corral rails, where they had first met. His chest constricts at the wayward thought.

Digging the grave is a bit of a slow process, but Jared refuses Jensen’s help, knowing that he’ll need the time for the final goodbyes.

Halfway through, Jensen speaks in a voice broken by grief. “The other pups were always i-intent on the hunt and f-feedings. Donovan was different,” Jensen’s fingers stroke along the hounds, ear. “I would s-swear there were times he seemed more human than canine.”

Jared jams the blade of the shovel further into the ground and whispers, “He was special, Jensen.”

“The cats come around mainly because I sneak them milk,” Jensen huffs a wet sound. “They only t-tolerate me because of the food I give them. They can be remarkably disdainful when they want to be. T-Talon is the only one from whom I can get any sense of devotion.”

Jared continues digging, offering encouraging noises when appropriate and allowing Jensen to speak the story of him and a lonely kennel dog.

When the hole is completely open, Jared turns to the stricken expression on Jensen’s face and suddenly doesn’t want to have to place Donovan in the ground.

Jensen’s chin trembles violently, “I do know how I will live without him.”

“You will do it one day at a time, as do you all else, Jensen,” Jared assures.

Eventide just begins to color the land as two lone figures stand over the fresh grave, silently bidding goodbye to a loyal, four-legged soul.

***

Talon stays nearby in the following days, for which Jensen is grateful. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he swears he senses Talon’s confusion at Donovan’s absence. He cannot decide if having another being grieving alongside him helps or hurts more.

Watching Talon turn to the side of the bed that had always been Donovan’s and blink oddly at the open space tears at Jensen’s heart in new ways.

Sleep eludes him those first few nights. Despite the fact that he would grumble about the lack of room in his own bed, he finds the empty mattress difficult to reconcile.

Jared’s words echoing in his mind are the only things that allow him to finally fall into a fitful rest.

_He was the bravest hound I have ever known._

_He was a special dog who was lucky to have you as a friend._

_Donovan’s death was heroic. Do not believe otherwise._

Jared checks in on him daily and despite Jensen’s reluctance to fully embrace the odd connection they share, Jared’s presence and antics and smiles help soothe Jensen’s aching heart.

Jared’s assisting with the herb collection in the forest and he’s in the middle of a tale about his foray into the south lands when Jensen interrupts with a quiet: “I miss him.”

Jared simply abandons his story between one breath and the next and replies, “I know you do.” His patience and tolerance would rival that of the clergy.

Jensen drops a few more lavender blooms into his satchel and asks, “Do you think it preposterous that a canine could mean so much to a person?”

“On the contrary,” Jared says while plucking some herbaceous sage leaves. “I think it makes perfect sense. I have discovered animals far more capable of loyalty and devotion than many of their human counterparts. Truly, Jensen. They are the best of us and the fact that you were able to see that and embrace it speaks of how truly special you are.”

Jensen remains seated on the forest floor and allows that to sink in, breathing deeply. His chest warms that Jared notices in him in that kind of trait and he smiles to himself. No one has ever seen him the way Jared does. “So did the fishmonger ever discover who it was that had absconded with his catch?”

Jared takes the deflection for what it is and launches back into the sordid tale of the stolen herring.

And a tiny piece of Jensen’s heart stitches back together.

***

They’re sitting just to the right of a field of cabbage -- coming in nicely, Jensen’s glad to note -- and enjoying a midday meal of bread and cheese.

Jensen rips off a bite from the loaf and has it halfway to his mouth when he stops, overcome by memories, and whispers, “This was always his favorite. Gods, he was a relentless beggar. And I could never resist those eyes.”

Jared rests half stretched out on the field, right ankle kicked up over his left and doesn’t even question the subject, simply replies, “He had a good life with you, Jensen.”

It takes a few more moments before Jensen can resume eating, but when he does, he feels a little lighter somehow.

***

They’re walking back from gathering herbs and evening is just beginning to set. Jensen no longer really worries about being seen with Jared, as all have seemed to accept the fact that some of the knights are willing to help with the menial chores of the village without complaint.

It’s marginally difficult to maintain a proper distance from Jared, but Jensen keeps mostly three feet between them at all times.

Despite his desire for physical contact, he wants to preserve propriety.

His only dilemma is that the more time he spends with Jared, the more he wants to touch and the need for decorum doesn’t seem as necessary.

He’s chuckling at Jared’s latest bawdy tale and a random memory pops into his head. “Did I ever tell you what Donovan was like as a puppy?”

Jared grins, “You did not.”

“Clumsy and fearless. That dog would trip over thick air. Never failed to make me laugh. Sometimes I think he did it on purpose just to get the sound out of me.”

Jared reaches out to the cuff of Jensen’s tunic and gives it a good-natured shake. “Happy memories are the best ones to share.”

Jensen silently agrees.

***

Jared begins to see his knightly chores as time away from Jensen and despite realizing that will surely breed an unhealthy mindset for safety of the keep, he cannot help the yearning to continue their daily conversations in the hopes of helping Jensen heal.

Already Jared can notice a change in Jensen, not only in his lessening hesitation when they’re together, but also in his dwindling grief.

Jensen’s smile comes quicker now and although Jared knows time can alleviate many wounds, he likes to believe some of it is because of his support.

And it is no truly hardship for him. Jensen is one of the most attractive men with whom he has ever had the pleasure of spending time. He is quick witted and smart and what he can do with a pile of roots and leaves still stuns and amazes Jared. His sincere green eyes are deep enough to get lost in.

And his body.

Jared barely keeps from moaning aloud as he prepares his attire for the coming day. Even before arriving at Greenbriar Manor, it had been more than a fortnight since Jared had lain with a man. He and Jeffrey Dean had been traveling outside of towns for a while and there simply hadn’t been the opportunity.

Ever since his first dalliance with another man when he was newly twenty summers, Jared realized how different it was to have a hand on his manhood other than his own. It was only a few fortnights later he experienced the bliss of spilling his seed into a willing mouth and shortly thereafter, when he slid into a well-prepared male body for the first time, it was as close to paradise on earth as he knew he was likely to get.

He takes care of his manly needs as surreptitiously as he’s able beneath his blankets in the knights quarters, but it’s not the same as having another person with him.

While he could likely find a willing participant with whom to slake his lust, he fears there would be an emptiness to it because he would prefer to share the journey to ultimate pleasure with Jensen.

As a result of not only his growing attraction and need to see Jensen at least once a day, Jared approaches his assigned practice with an impatience he has trouble hiding.

When he arrives in the bailey, Hiddleston already swaggers through the group, boasting of his various conquests and preening as the ladies in the village seem riveted to his tales.

Jared can’t be the only one who notices the mockery and disparagement in some of their eyes, particularly Kim, Genevieve and Cindy.

And yet, still, Hiddleston continues, “The Saxons certainly knew how to create weapons, I assure you, but the Norse people were truly the ones who could wield them. My travels have taken me far and wide and shown me lessons from all over the lands.”

He pulls his sword from the scabbard with a melodramatic swing.

“And now, I will shall grace Greenbriar Manor with those lessons.”

Jared is the first to step into the ring, wanting to finish his practice quickly and perhaps take some of the bluster out of Hiddleston’s demeanor in the process.

“T’is brave, boy, to be the first, but also foolhardy,” Hiddleston warns.

Jared draws his sword without a word.

Hiddleston smirks and the skirmish begins when the metal clangs together.

From the first attack, Jared realizes Hiddleston’s intent is to teach his lesson bluntly, forcefully and without any quarter given. He lands rough blows with both the hilt of the sword and his fists.

Jared dances away from the tip of Hiddleston’s sword at the last possible moment following one well-aimed thrust. When they face each other again, Jared reminds, “We are not at war here Thomas. There is no need for what would be killing blows.”

Hiddleston snorts as he circles to Jared’s right. “You think war will be easy, boy? You think your enemy will restrain himself?”

“I do not, but you and I are not at war. Indeed, at the moment, we are on the same side, and this is but a practice.”

“War will not be a practice, I assure you,” Hiddleston sneers. “You need to be prepared.”

Jared pauses, sword still held in a defensive stance. “I wonder, sir, why you are so anxious for war? It takes far more intelligence and true wisdom to work for peace than to immediately draw sword and bow for a fight. Surely a knight should know this.”

Hiddleston’s smile is reptilian in its venom, “A knight’s true purpose to get blood on his sword. Theirs or yours. It matters not.”

An instinct that leaves Jared cold to his very core makes him wonder to which sword Hiddleston refers, but nothing in the kingdom would persuade him to continue with the discourse. Once the practice is engaged again, it’s ended swiftly when Hiddleston lands a painful hit to Jared’s knee and he goes down, tip of Hiddleston’s sword at his neck.

“Hold,” he demands and the pressure is released.

“You should learn to respect those with more experience than you, boy,” Hiddleston suggests, dripping conceit.

“Perhaps you should learn respect for those with whom you serve,” Jared counters.

For three tense moments, silence beats loudly, and Jared prepares for Hiddleston to raise his sword once more.

Instead, he turns to the collected knights and demands, “Who is next to learn a valuable lesson?”

Jared releases his breath. When he gathers enough energy to rise, he feels every spot on his body where Hiddleston made contact and he winces. It must be relatively evident because Misha walks up to him with a murmured, “You should see the truth sayer. He has salves to help ease the aches.”

Jared nods without speaking, thinking a visit to Jensen is just what he needs to clear the sour taste from his mouth that an afternoon with Hiddleston has produced.

He finds Jensen in the stable, flicking a piece of wheat along the rail for Talon, assuring that he has the cat’s avid attention.

With weapons and chain-mail clanking, Jared’s presence is known long before he arrives at the fence. When Jensen glances up at the noise, his face transforms into a gorgeous grin and he abandons the game with Talon in favor of climbing up one rail and whispering, “Jared.”

Jared’s lips lift in a similar expression and it isn’t until he gets a bit closer that he sees Jensen look around with sudden uncertainty and step off the fence.

Jared’s stomach twists, and he wishes there would be a day when Jensen could feel free enough to assert himself in any way he wants. How he would love to have Jensen rush up to him with a kiss and hug in greeting. Jared would willingly open his arms to catch Jensen, no matter the circumstance.

When Jared gets to the fence, he reaches out to stroke along Talon’s back and murmurs, “I am told the truth sayer might have some ointments for the bruises I received in practice today. Can you confirm or deny this assertion?”

And Jensen’s grin is back again. “I can give you confirmation. You need to come inside.”

Jared doesn’t hesitate. He meets Jensen at the door and once in his room, begins the rather laborious task of divesting himself of his many layers, most of which are metal.

Without thinking, he pulls his tunic and undershirt over his head and stands bare from the waist up in front of Jensen’s astonished eyes.

Jared can tell Jensen’s breathing has changed, become slightly ragged, and the other man seems to have trouble taking his focus from Jared’s torso. Watching Jensen’s green eyes travel his chest is like a touch and Jared’s nipples pebble hard, streaking a hot bolt of pleasure to his groin and he can barely keep the moan from escaping his throat. “Jensen…”

Jensen shakes his head, rather viciously, and whispers, “I thought this was only practice. You took many blows, I see.”

Jared glances down, notices the red blots on his skin, some of which have already started to purple, and he can’t keep the irritation from his voice, “It would seem Hiddleston has such a need for war, he would assuage the urge even on those who are not his enemy.”

Jensen steps forward, and places his fingers just over one of the rougher-looking bruises.

The touch goes through Jared like a blast of summer wind, breathtaking and welcome. It takes considerable will on Jared’s part not to simply grab what is right in front of him.

He knows of Jensen’s hesitancy -- has seen it in his eyes and manner, practically since the first time they met.

Jensen’s is not a keep that can be taken by force.

Indeed, a more subtle approach is likely to work best, so Jared keeps his arms at his sides, despite the itch in his fingers to return the scintillating touch, and murmurs quietly, “Did I ever tell you the tales of my time in Norwich?”

Jensen shakes his head distractedly, but persists with the light caresses along each blemish.

Jared closes his hands into fists to keep from dragging the tips of Jensen’s fingers to his aching nipples and continues in a voice shaken with lust, “I discovered a section of the town solely for men who would lie with other men.”

Jensen startles at that and moves away, mumbling something about the ointment he requires.

Jared lets him go, but when he returns with a potent smelling salve, Jared says, “There are places like that, Jensen, I assure you. It was not overt, no one flaunted it, but it was there.”

Jensen’s fingers quiver tellingly when he applies the minty ointment over a particularly harsh bruise on Jared’s shoulder. “You should not talk of such things, Jared.”

“Why not? They exist. I do not lie. If you cannot sense that with such a slight touch, you are welcome to take my hand to know the truth of my statement.”

Jensen’s eyes dart up to Jared’s face for only a moment before resuming attention on the task. “It is not you I doubt, Jared. It is simply that talk of such...liaisons shouldn’t be spoken. It is improper.”

“Pleasure is not improper, Jensen,” Jared risks taking a marginal step closer.

“Pleasure is only allowed when in the act of making a child or heirs,” Jensen murmurs, words sounding quite rote, almost memorized.

“Pleasure is allowed between consenting adults,” Jared counters, inhaling the intriguing scent that is lavender and Jensen.

Jensen’s breath shakes, fraying at the edges, but he looks up.

Mere inches separate their mouths, bodies.

“Will you let me show you pleasure, Jensen?”

Jensen’s eyes flutter and it’s clear he’s fighting his natural inclinations. “Jared...we cannot.”

“No one is here,” Jared whispers. “No one will know.”

Jensen whimpers and the sound seems pulled directly from the heavens. It’s manna to Jared’s libido and his cock thickens in his trousers at nothing more than the choked off noise from the back of Jensen’s throat.

“It is alright to want it, I assure you,” Jared rasps in a tone laced with desire. “It is not wrong. Will you trust me enough to show you?”

It is a single, soft-spoken word from plush, kissable lips, that changes everything.

Please.

Jensen’s fragmented whisper goes through Jared like an arrow and he moves to connect them from mouths to knees.

The kiss is wanton, deep and Jared samples everything Jensen gives, wrapping the fingers of his left hand into Jensen’s uneven hair and grabbing a fistful of Jensen’s trousers in the other.

Jared licks into Jensen’s mouth and is rewarded with the softest sound from Jensen’s lips. He explores the tips of Jensen’s teeth with his tongue and dares to dart just a fraction deeper when Jensen sucks in a sharp breath and uses the naked width of Jared’s shoulders to pull himself closer.

“So easy to light the spark in you,” Jared murmurs, lips brushing Jensen’s. “It takes but a simple touch.”

Jensen raises his eyes, pupils dilated, expression dazed. “Jared, I…”

Jared circles his nose around the end of Jensen’s. “You what, green eyes?”

“I do not...know what t-to do…”

“Do whatever comes naturally,” Jared suggests around another kiss. “Let your instincts guide you.”

Jensen surrenders for a few sweet moments and they get lost in each other’s mouths and arms. When they separate only a few scant inches, they both reach for measured breath that is beyond their grasp.

“Truly, Jared?” Jensen whispers. “I can do anything?”

“Absolutely.”

Jensen trails his fingers along Jared’s shoulders, gauging each muscle by sight and feel. By accident or intent, Jared can’t be certain, Jensen’s thumb grazes one of Jared’s nipples -- finally -- and the sensation shakes through him.

Jensen glances up, curiosity evident on his face. “You like that?”

Jared breathes out, “Very much.”

Jensen seems to contemplate something and with a look of determination, leans forward and licks a wet stripe along the nipple.

Jared arches against Jensen’s tongue and gasps, “Ah, sweet merciful gods, you are a sultan’s bounty and yet you’re as innocent as the day you were born, aren’t you?”

Jensen’s artless expression answers the question better than any words could. “I w-wanted to see what you tasted like,” Jensen explains.

Jared grins, even as his wet nipple tingles in the afternoon air. “And did you find it palatable?”

Jensen licks his lips, as though testing the flavor still on his tongue and the sight has Jared’s cock leaking heavily in his trousers.

Gods, this man is unlike anyone he has ever known.

“I fear I like it too much,” Jensen confesses quietly. “I feel as though I could suckle all afternoon.”

The thought of Jensen nursing on his nipples for an extended period, making them red and hard and raw, lances through Jared, bright and sharp and potent as the sun on a clear day.

“There’s nothing I would not allow you,” Jared encourages as he leans forward for another searing kiss, one that gathers momentum until Jared walks them back to the table Jensen uses for his herbs. Jared settles them so Jensen’s buttocks rest on the lip of the wood, and nudges between Jensen’s legs with his knees, rutting his hips until he fits them together, hard cocks grinding, separated by only the fabric of their trousers.

It’s the most clothed he’s ever been with another man and the closest he’s been to spending his seed in his pants, all at the same time.

It leaves Jared more than a little dizzy.

Jensen pulls away on a broken gasp and Jared takes the opportunity to drag his lips along Jensen’s throat, eliciting another hoarse noise, one that sounds a lot like Talon at his most satisfied.

“Jared,” Jensen breathes. “You make me…”

Jared hums against the soft skin just under Jensen’s ear. “I make you what, sweetling?”

“I…” Jensen seeks an unbroken breath, but seems unable to attain it, grabs fitfully at Jared’s bare shoulders, “feel unhinged...like I could take flight.”

Jared smiles, pulls them closer at the waist. “We shall both fly, my beautiful, green-eyed man.”

With a particularly forceful pivot of his hips, their cocks line up uniformly, brushing and grating against the buckskin and Jensen’s entire body jolts against Jared.

“Ah, gods,” Jensen groans. “I can feel...you...your...”

“Mmmm,” Jared agrees. “And I can feel you. Do you like it?”

Jensen pulls himself flush against Jared and begins to twist his hips in a delicious counterpoint as he whines, “I sh-shouldn’t…”

Jared grunts, “But you do?”

Jensen exhales on a choked sound. “May the gods have mercy on my soul, yes. Yes, I do.”

Jared opens Jensen’s legs further, forcing him to sit on the table and murmurs, “We can get closer still,” while slotting solid and firm between Jensen’s spread thighs.

“Jared,” Jensen exclaims. “By the gods…”

This time it is Jensen who brings their lips together with a shift of his chin and opens his mouth to share a deep, wild kiss, spurned on by the turbulence of their groins.

Jared feels his body rush toward the precipice and suddenly needs to see Jensen spill first. It takes an inordinate amount of concentration to reach for the ties of Jensen’s breeches while they still kiss -- he’s easily distracted by Jensen’s lips and lascivious noises -- but he manages to dig through all the material to the hot length beneath.

The skin-on-skin yanks Jensen out of this kiss, as though he’s surfacing water, and he cries out, “Jared, what? Oh, gods, don’t…you cannot...”

Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s cock, glancing down between them to note it has completely cleared the foreskin and is leaking and throbbing within his hand. It takes only two sloppy strokes before Jensen stiffens on a choked off wine and becomes an untamed thing in Jared’s arms, fluttering like the wings of a bird, shivering and pulsing his ecstasy into Jared’s palm, his forehead buried against Jared’s neck as he pants and shakes and comes completely undone in the most vivid display of masculine pleasure Jared has ever witnessed.

The sight of it is really all it takes -- that and three rough thrusts against Jensen’s thigh -- and Jared’s own orgasm ignites low in his stomach, soaking the ties of his trousers and making him moan Jensen’s name into the other man’s hair and clutch him hard against his chest.

The two shudder and gulp air without letting go of the other.

After an extended amount of time has passed, Jared pulls back only to untangle his hand from Jensen’s breeches. Without thinking, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sips the white fluid from his skin, wanting the sharp, salt taste on his tongue.

Jensen sounds scandalized when he whispers, “Jared…”

Jared grins and leans forward, swiping his lips across Jensen’s, bringing even more shock to  
Jensen’s countenance until Jensen gets a proper sample of what Jared’s offering and returns for more and more and more.

They’re locked in a heated kiss before long, the taste of Jensen’s seed fully shared between them and Jared whispers, “There’s no sin in finding pleasure in another person, Jensen.”

Jensen blinks and reluctantly withdraws, but cannot stop fully looking. He touches the marks on Jared’s skin left from the knight’s practice and whispers, “I forgot...about your bruises. Are you alright?”

Jared smiles, “I assure you, I feel no pain. I do not think it is possible to know anything but joy having you in my arms.”

It’s true and Jensen must be able to feel it, connected as they are.

And even after everything, Jensen blushes so sweetly and ducks his chin to hide his eyes, and Jared cannot help but place a chaste kiss on the crown of the other man’s head. “I fear I must take my leave of you, though, to prepare for the evening meal,” Jared laments.

Jensen raises his head sharply, unable to hide his look of returned chagrin and shame and perhaps a little melancholy.

Jared grips Jensen’s face in both his hands. “Understand that if I had my way, I would stay with you through to the morning, but as much as it pains me, we should give at least a passing thought to propriety and your good name.”

Tension has returned once again to Jensen’s frame and he seems unable to make eye contact.

Jared places his lips on Jensen’s forehead. “Whatever thoughts you are having, hear the truth of my words, Jensen. Were it my choice I would remain here with you.”

Jared waits until the veracity of his statement penetrates and when it does, Jensen raises his eyes and gives a small, secret smile that lights up places in Jared he was unaware even existed.

They clean up together and after a satisfying kiss farewell, Jared returns to the knight’s quarters, the sinful taste of Jensen still keen in his mouth.

***

Jensen shivers in anticipation as he slips his tunic over his head. He had found the hidden spring a few summers ago. Nestled in a glen just outside the castle walls, the water is heated from deep within the earth. Closer to the source, the liquid is too hot for skin, but nearer the shore it’s perfect.

Wading in naked, Jensen allows the warmth to envelope him slowly, gripping his tired muscles in a heated brush that’s almost as lulling as the lavender soap Jensen created, secured by a rope around his neck and used to scrub every inch of his skin clean.

He has a ritual of sorts before he gets to the actual bathing. His moments in the spring are some of the rare times he allows himself to indulge in the luxury of the quiet serenity. He floats for a bit, letting the water carry him where it may before concentrating on the task at hand.

The canopy of trees above him provides the perfect backdrop for his inner reflections and with evening just beginning to set, the light mutes everything around him in a tranquil glow.

As is typical, his contemplations lead him to Donovan and his chest aches a bit at the loss. He breathes a deep sigh, recognizing that the tragedy has been easier to handle as time continues to take him through the days. He misses his friend, surely, but the cuts are not as gaping and ragged as they once were.

He focuses instead on the warmth of the water around him, almost like a touch -- the kind he never allows himself with another person.

His legs twitch at the lie, producing a soft splashing sound. Jared’s touch surpasses even that of the hidden spring, bringing fire and light to Jensen’s nerve endings. Memories -- never far from his thoughts -- bubble up, stirring his cock to hardness, much to Jensen’s chagrin.

He huffs to himself and turns over on his stomach to swim a bit, hoping to discourage his suddenly uncontrollable libido.

It’s just...he never knew the pleasure to be found in another person. The sensation of Jared’s fingers on his cock is like nothing Jensen had ever experienced before. He didn’t realize how different it would be from his own hand. The memory of spilling his seed so recklessly in Jared’s palm will come to him, unbidden, during the day and he’ll have to stop to adjust his trousers.

It’s lunacy.

And yet.

He finds himself craving the new sensations. Practically all the time. He yearns for the ecstasy he knows Jared can bring him and that’s...dangerous.

He cannot want like that. He shouldn’t. It steals reason and good sense. It taps into a carnal, base nature Jensen never knew he had. It’s wild and untamed and as frightening as it is exhilarating.

He settles into a shallow section of the spring, water level just under his nipples, and with brisk movements, begins to cleanse his body with the lavender soap.

Jensen must learn control, restraint.

He cannot allow his licentious leanings to destroy his good judgment, like the clerics teach once a week during the lessons in the chapel. The gods expect order and obedience, not chaos and impropriety.

Only a slight shiver trembles along his spine when his cups his cock and testicles to be sure his privates are clean. He deliberately thinks of nothing but decorum and goodness.

Jensen must be better. Do better. He knows this.

The crack of the twig is his only warning and when he spins in the water, breath lodged in his throat, to his horror and secret thrill, he finds Jared standing at the shore line, beautiful grin on his face, as though he materialized from Jensen’s thoughts alone.

Jensen shakes his head, “J-Jared…”

“What a delightful discovery,” Jared beams and much to Jensen’s alarm, begins stripping his clothes.

“Jared, no.”

“It appears very warm,” Jared continues, pieces of clothing scattering to the ground like fall leaves. “I have heard such springs existed, but have never been able to partake in the luxury. Tell me, green eyes, what other secrets have you been keeping?”

Jensen attempts to judge the distance to his own pile of clothes on the shore and if he could make it safely there before Jared could see him. Jensen has never been truly naked around another person before. He sinks into the water to his chin, in the hopes of covering as much of his form as he can.

And yet he can’t seem to take his eyes off Jared as his body is slowly revealed in long sinewy muscle and gorgeous golden skin.

Jensen can feel the secret shivers down low in his stomach at the sight. His cock clenches slightly and his mouth waters. He wants to feel and taste so badly he’s shaking with it, but he knows he must end this.

“Jared, p-please, this is immodest.”

Dressed in nothing more than his breeches, Jared puts his hands on his hips, bare feet wiggling in the grass. “Are you trying to tell me you are fully clothed in there?”

“N-no, but, Jared…”

“Then immodesty cannot be an issue,” Jared surmises, while reaching for the ties at his waist.

“It is if we are in here together!” Jensen hisses.

“Nonsense,” Jared scoffs. “There is plenty of room. It is not like we’re sharing a personal tub.”

The thought of squirming together with Jared -- utterly naked -- in the long metal container Jensen uses for baths in his cottage catches Jensen off guard and he inhales sharply.

Jared narrows his eyes, “We would be much closer in the tub, you see. No way not to touch each other, wet skin sliding together…”

“Jared,” Jensen breathes, almost able to feel the sensation at Jared’s words alone.

“But,” Jared claps, breaking the spell with a jolt. “That won’t be an issue here, so there is no need for worries.”

With that, he flicks the ties on his breeches open, sweeps everything away, and strides into the water, completely bare.

Jensen gurgles what he hopes are protests, but he cannot look away from Jared, sculpted and graceful, coming into the water. His arms and torso are powerful and Jensen knows can carry everything from firewood to squealing children with ease. The thick muscles in his legs ripple even more than the water that flows around them. And his cock, large and formidable, still encased in foreskin, not even fully hard, makes Jensen tremble with heat and anticipation. Jensen gets just a glimpse of the thick, dark hair surrounding it and has only a moment to wonder if feels the same as his own before Jared submerges himself to his shoulders in the spring.

His eyes are Jensen’s last perusal and there’s a knowing gleam in them. It’s only then that Jensen looks away.

“Ahh,” Jared moans, as he continues moving closer. “This is nirvana.”

Jensen steps back, trying to maintain some kind of distance between them, but his entire being practically throbs to be closer.

Jared’s grin borders on puckish as he sinks lower and lower into the water until the crown of his head disappears below the surface. Jensen’s first impulse is to chuckle -- Jared’s always got a playful bend to his demeanor and Jensen figures this is just another game.

The longer he remains submerged though, the more worried Jensen becomes. Indeed, the situation reminds Jensen of the stories he’d heard of water creatures that stalk their prey before striking.

Jensen suddenly feels like the quarry and he shivers -- not completely from fear.

When Jared finally crests the water, slowly, he’s little more than an arm span from where Jensen stands and a hot tremor buffets along Jensen’s spine with the knowledge that it would take very little to touch Jared’s skin.

Jared slicks his wet hair back from his face and smiles, “Hello, there.”

“Jared,” Jensen huffs an admonishing sound.

“I knew you weren’t fully clothed in here,” Jared whispers conspiratorially, “but it is nice to have visual proof, even through the water.”

Jensen gasps and instinctively puts his hands over his manhood, despite the fact Jared has clearly already seen and is above the water now.

“Jensen,” Jared continues, “there’s really no need to cover what I have already held in my hand.”

The statement and memory quiver through Jensen, raising small little bumps on his skin, despite the fact that his is far from chilled. His cock throbs, once, and he has to move his hands away before he forgets himself.

Jensen fears Jared must be able to recognize his growing predicament, but kindly refrains from mentioning it.

Jared reaches out and Jensen’s stomach’s swoops pleasantly, warming with the anticipation of flying again in Jared’s knowing grip, but Jared only inspects the soap hanging from Jensen’s neck.

Still, when Jared leans down to inhale the fragrance, Jensen stumbles a step closer.

“Mmmm,” Jared hums. “That’s the explanation for which I was searching.”

Jensen frowns and asks softly, “What?”

The tip of Jared’s thumb grazes the end of the soap over and over and Jensen can call to mind what that slow rubbing felt like on the head of his cock and he may be listing forward a bit, but he’s not certain he can help it.

“You smell enticingly of lavender and I knew it couldn’t have been the merely from sprigs you like to carry with you,” Jared explains. “There must have been another source and I believe I have discovered it.”

Jensen inhales deeply and attempts to reach for some level of control. “Jared, you have to know this is not proper, you and I together like this.”

Jared shrugs, “I see only two men in the process of a cleansing. Indeed, there are towns where this happens in the center of everything where the water is plentiful.”

Jensen imagines being naked with Jared in front of others and he worries there must be a fever overtaking his person, because the thought should bring far more mortification than it does. “Do not tell such tall tales.”

Jared finally releases the soap, but trails his fingers along Jensen’s sternum as he does. “It is not a fabrication, I assure you, but if you must, feel free to touch me to know the truth.”

Jensen has to clench his fists tightly beneath the water to keep from following through with Jared’s suggestion. “You know we should not do this.”

Jared smiles and floats closer. “On the contrary, I believe we both want to do this. Very much.”

Jensen strives for a denial that is just not there; all he seems capable of at the moment is shaking his head.

Jared walks his fingers along Jensen’s neck. “I have been able to think of little else in the past few days than what it felt like holding you so intimately in my hand,” Jared murmurs, weaving a spell Jensen is unable to resist. “Has it not been the same for you? Have I misjudged the situation so greatly?”

“I…” Jensen attempts a dismissal, but can’t bring himself to voice the falsehood. “We should not talk of such things.”

“So you do not think about it?” Jared wonders, stepping close enough that Jensen can see the warmth in his eyes even in the slanting evening light. “Hmmmm? You do not wonder if we have similar reactions?”

Jensen tries to breathe regularly, but he can’t seem to keep his heart from pounding a rough rhythm, requiring more air.

“I find myself curious if your nipples are as sensitive as mine,” Jared whispers while brushing the backs of his fingers along Jensen’s chest.

The light caress shoots fire deep into Jensen’s stomach, throbbing in his cock, and he grabs Jared’s hand, unsure whether he means to push him away or keep him close. Somehow, despite the confinement, Jared manages to wiggle his thumb between two fingers and find the nub which he sought.

Jensen’s body quivers like a drawn bow and he did not know the dusty flesh of his nipple was connected to his groin, but with each pass of Jared’s wet thumb, he can feel his cock answer. Pleasure builds, just like it had before, so different from the sensations of his own hand, and he wants so badly to surrender, to let Jared take him wherever the journey leads them, but he still hears words like virtue and modesty and appropriate behavior blow through his mind and he tries to gather some decorum.

“We should not be here like this,” Jensen whispers.

Jared shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with should or what other people believe is right. This is about wanting, Jensen. It seems as though your eyes and body tell a different story than your words. I see you watching me, looking at me. It appears like interest. Do not let your mind -- and all that it has been filled with by people who do not know -- override your heart. Do you want to explore this? This heat that we have found together?”

It’s like holding a lit torch in a field of dry hay. Jensen knows all it would take is one, quick move to ignite everything around him and despite the risk of burns, he aches to set it all aflame, so much so that he ignores everything he’s been taught and answers, “I do.”

When they come together in one swift rush, pulled there by Jared’s tug, the complete skin-on-skin connection goes through Jensen like a powerful storm, sudden and strong and shocking in its intensity, and his cock hardens so quickly, he’s dizzy with it.

Jensen has lain awake thinking of what it had been like to have Jared, strong and thick and powerful rubbing against him. He had been able to sense only the bulge in Jared’s trousers, hot and unyielding, but like this, gods, like this there is nothing left to the imagination. Indeed, he can even feel the twin spheres hanging between Jared’s legs and it’s almost too much, yet somehow not enough at the same time.

They initiate a kiss around Jared’s moan and the noise vibrates along Jensen’s lips, adding to the titillation tingling through his veins.

The water creates a buoyancy that allows Jensen to feel nearly weightless and as their wet skin chafes together, the heat between them intensifies until Jensen swears for the first time his body is hotter than the liquid that surrounds him.

Jared brings drippings hands up to Jensen’s face and pulls back enough to say, “I want very much to be inside you, Jensen.”

Jensen can’t help but run his hands along the width and smooth curves of Jared’s back, while water drips around them. “I am not a woman, Jared. You cannot be inside me.”

“Ah, my sweet, innocent man, how much there is to teach you,” Jared murmurs against Jensen’s forehead as his hands drop around his waist. “I assure you I can be inside you. Very deeply, in fact.”

Confusion swirls as Jensen tries to determine the particulars of what Jared’s suggesting.

Jared chuckles, “Such a contemplative expression.”

“Jared,” Jensen shakes his head. “You are not talking about forn...forni….”

“Fornication. You can say it.”

Just hearing the word from Jared’s mouth brings a thrill to Jensen’s nerves and yet he still can’t understand. “But, two men cannot…”

Jared’s wanton smile makes Jensen’s heart skip a beat and he gasps as Jared cups his naked buttocks in both palms. “Jared…”

“Two men,” Jared whispers, pulling Jensen ever closer, “have a special way of fornicating.”

Jared’s fingers delve deep -- in between -- and separate the cheeks, bringing water and warmth and a new, completely open sensation that leaves Jensen light-headed and he has to hold onto Jared to remain upright.

“We must be considerate and careful,” Jared continues, spreading Jensen’s flesh ever wider, “but I assure you, green eyes, I can be very much inside you.”

It’s an intensity the likes of which Jensen has never before known to feel Jared’s longest finger sliding closer and closer to a place Jensen himself barely skims with a washcloth. It shouldn’t amplify his breathing and escalate his heartbeat, but it really does.

It should be in fear and disgust, but it is not.

It’s just...he didn’t know.

Jensen truly did not know how many nerve endings were connected to that part of his body, but just feeling the tip of Jared’s finger swirling around the profoundly sensitive rim makes Jensen cling harder to Jared’s shoulders and exhale raggedly.

“Yes,” Jared murmurs, bending down to Jensen’s neck. “Just like that. Will you yield your sheath to me, Jensen?”

The constant, light wiggling of that lone finger nearly hypnotises Jensen and his cock pulses almost painfully in response. Without thinking, he grinds up against Jared, nearly climbing the other man as the unique sensations produced in the wake of the intimate caresses shudder through him practically from his head to his toes.

He whimpers into Jared’s skin, not completely sure what is happening to his body. Nothing has ever been like this before.

“It is good, yes?” Jared ask softly.

Jensen can only whisper Jared’s name and embrace the other man tightly.

“Hold on, sweetling, I must see something.”

Just the end of Jared’s finger pushes, only slightly, and probes, opening Jensen’s sensitive, delicate flesh the littlest bit, but it’s enough to have Jensen clench his body up, utterly unused to something entering him and it pops the tip of Jared’s finger back out. Jared hums and immediately prods back in again, not far, but definitely there.

“Jared,” Jensen breathes.

“We can’t go too far,” Jared says, finger now still from its earlier churning, resting just inside Jensen’s body. “I do not have anything to ease the way and water is not the best conduit.”

Jensen has a difficult time comprehending the words, especially as his heart and lungs and cock sweep him along on a wave of sensation he has never before experienced.

It’s pure instinct, once he gets used to the feeling of Jared’s finger, to arch back toward Jared’s hand seeking more of the contact, a deeper penetration. He doesn’t question the need; simply acts.

“There you are,” Jared murmurs, twisting their hips together. “Ready to fly again for me?”

And shockingly, Jensen is. He’s uncertain when it happened or how his cock filled so full, but he’s a breath away from spending his seed under the water against Jared’s hip and there’s nothing he can do to stop the rush.

He whimpers Jared’s name and lifts both legs so that Jared’s got all of his weight and he surges forward.

“Gods, gorgeous man, give me your mouth,” Jared requests on a growl and Jensen’s seed spills into the water just as Jared locks their lips together and suckles like a starving man.

Jensen can feel the sensitive tissue of his rim flutter around Jared’s finger as he pulses rhythmically in release and once again, everything he has known changes from being in Jared’s arms.

Jared moans against Jensen’s lips and ruts his cock against Jensen’s belly, roughly, three or four times before shuddering wildly and grasping Jensen’s buttocks hard.

They are both wet from more than the water -- the heat between them brings perspiration and more -- and their kiss breaks with the need for air, but it’s a long while before their breathing slows enough for them to pull apart.

Jared swipes his fingers under Jensen’s lips and whispers, “Something that breathtaking cannot be wrong.”

They finish cleaning up and Jensen allows Jared to borrow his soap and they play a bit in the water, but Jared’s words stay with Jensen long after they’ve arrived back at the manor.

***

Jensen readies himself for sleep three evenings later and he still trembles minutely throughout the day in recollection and searing awareness of the newness of his body, as well as Jared’s hot promise to know him so intimately.

He finds he’s far more intrigued at the prospect than revolted.

The knock on the door shouldn’t be a shock, but the sound reverberates through him like lightning between clouds.

Jared slides through the open door without an invitation, carrying a satchel and an mischievous expression. “I come bearing treats. Special cakes from Christian that he told me I must share with you.”

Jensen has his doubts that the castle’s cook demanded Jared bring the offering at such a late hour, but says nothing as he trails Jared to his own room. Just seeing Jared always brings a rush of anticipation mixed with excitement and Jensen finds he can no longer deny himself the invigorating pleasure.

As Jared places the items from the satchel onto a nearby table, Jensen notices a jar that is clearly not preserves or some other form of spread for the sweatmeats. “What is in the container?”

Jared glances up quickly and then away, “It is a salve I discovered helps ease the way when two men lie together.”

Jensen can still feel the phantom sensation of just the tip of Jared’s finger inside him. Indeed, he’s thought of little else these past few days, and holding the very ointment that would prepare him for Jared’s cock causes a secret, deep fluttering in the place that only Jared has touched.

“How--” his words get caught and he has to make a second attempt. “How does it work?”

Jared steps marginally closer, “Will you allow me to show you?”

Feeling as though he’s standing on a precipice that he will forever define as before and after, Jensen the True does something he has never before even considered in his existence.

He makes a decision based solely on himself and what he wants.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Jared’s smile ignites a similar response in Jensen and the two come together in a visceral, strong kiss that sweeps Jensen up in its intensity.

He eats at Jared’s lips, as he has been taught and revels in the friction and sensation against his own mouth. He did not know that being pressed up against another person, so closely, so intimately, could have such a profound impact on his manhood. He can feel his cock grow, blood flowing all along the length, and his testicles pull a little tighter.

He inhales as much as he can around Jared’s mouth and Jared takes Jensen’s cheeks in his palms. “Good?”

Jensen nods, rubbing their noses and lips together and admits, “Your touch...what it does to me. It is like lightning and the summer’s wind all combined together. It takes my breath away.”

“The same holds true for me, green eyes,” Jared murmurs, while unfastening Jensen’s tunic.

Shivering slightly as his skin is revealed to Jared’s eyes, Jensen distracts himself from his own bashful qualms, by grazing his lips against Jared’s time and time again.

Jared’s fingers travel Jensen’s bare arms and back up to his shoulders, somehow managing to hold Jensen’s collarbone while using his thumbs to stimulate Jensen’s nipples.

With a low cry, Jensen grasps Jared’s wrists tight, pressing them against his skin while Jared continues to pluck and strum the acutely reactive buds.

“So responsive,” Jared whispers, trailing his lips along Jensen’s cheek. “Look how they rise to my fingers.”

Jensen is awash with the sharp, rolling pleasure of having Jared pay such attention to a body part that has heretofore been largely ignored by Jensen. It’s stunning the power such a simple touch can have over Jensen. “It’s only you, Jared.”

Jensen doesn’t know how they made it to the bed, but he finds the back of his knees butting up against the frame and following Jared’s gentle coaxing to sit down.

“Lie back.”

Jensen obeys, inching his way to the headboard to stretch out across the mattress, watching Jared as he strips his own tunic over his head, revealing the smooth planes of his chest and arms, a sight at which Jensen could stare for days and never grow weary.

When Jared seats himself on Jensen’s right side and reaches for the ties on Jensen’s breeches, a stroke of heat travels the length of Jensen’s body and he shivers.

Being with another person like this is so new, it’s nearly overwhelming. Jensen never thought he would experience what it was like to give himself to someone before Jared.

Now he can think of no other person more worthy of the right.

Together, they strip Jensen of his trousers and despite his timidity at letting another person see him thusly, Jensen finds he enjoys the rapt expression on Jared’s face, the fire in his eyes.

“Beautiful,” Jared murmurs, just before he does the absolute unthinkable and leans down to take Jensen’s manhood in his mouth.

His mouth.

Jensen’s hips lurch up off the bed and Jared uses his palms to hold him to the mattress when his body wants to buck up against the sensation.

Even in the rare moments when Jensen would pleasure himself in the hidden spring, he never felt such amazing, sizzling wetness on his cock. Jared’s tongue and lips lick out a tempo that quickly has Jensen gasping and flying right up to the edge, every muscle in his body taught and poised to soar.

It’s Jared’s soft, “let me taste you,” that tips the scales and Jensen’s release surges through him. He’s equal parts shocked and aroused to empty his seed into Jared’s mouth and have the other man swallow as though it is life-giving nectar.

Jensen’s dazed and dizzy and only knows that he wants Jared in his arms and yet when he hears the lid of the jar being twisted off, an anticipatory thrill buzzes along his skin.

“Are you frightened?” Jared asks.

Jensen shakes his head. “I likely should be, but I am not. Not with you.”

Jared dips three fingers into the jar and when he pulls them out, they are covered in a creamy white substance. “You should never fear me, green eyes. My only aim is to bring you pleasure. Always.”

Jensen nods. “That is why I am unafraid.”

“Will you show me how certain you are and open your legs for me so that I may have access to your body?”

It should feel odd and foreign to expose himself thusly, but Jensen’s eyes do not leave Jared’s and it is remarkably easy to spread his legs, opening himself to the air as well as Jared’s gaze and touch.

When Jared reacquaints himself with Jensen’s delicate flesh, Jensen is reminded how much he enjoyed the feeling in the hidden spring and with his recent release still singing in his veins, his thighs begin to unfold even further, encouraging the tip of Jared’s finger to delve deeper.

Jensen’s surprised how wonderful the addition of the salve makes the situation. Indeed, Jared’s finger glides beyond Jensen’s tingling rim with remarkable ease and sleekness and the penetration leaves Jensen burning from the inside out.

“Jared…” he breathes.

“I would ask if you are enjoying the exploration, but I can tell by the way your body follows my every move that you are,” Jared whispers. “Let us see how you handle the whole finger.”

The exquisite insertion doesn’t stop until the meat of Jared’s hand is lodged against Jensen’s overwhelmingly sensitive hole and starbursts explode vividly in his belly. When Jared twists his finger only slightly, Jensen’s world nearly whites out as something -- something -- sets off a chain reaction unlike anything he has ever known.

Jensen hitches his knees even higher, hoping to capture the feeling again and Jared murmurs, “Is this the location?” and prods, so very lightly, once again.

Jensen absolutely melts into the mattress and his cock stirs to life again, growing sold against his groin and he squirms against the linen. “Jared...what?”

Jared’s smile hints of a wolf when he explains, “There is a spot inside a man that will bring about an impeccable feeling of pleasure if one can find it.”

Jensen grabs handfuls of the material beneath him as he rocks his hips in circles, stunned at the ravenous hunger Jared can produce with such a modicum of movement. The inclusion of a second finger rolls through Jensen like ripples left on water after a hand skims the surface.

Jensen grapples with his overwhelming reaction and reaches for Jared’s free hand. “Jared, I need...lie next to me…”

Jared complies without a word, slotting himself beside to Jensen and still, it is not enough. Jensen whines and fidgets on Jared’s hand, unsure how to communicate what he requires when he isn’t certain himself.

“You need all of me, do you not?” Jared questions, opening his fingers wide.

The intimate stretch takes all ability to consider anything outside of this bed away from Jensen and he replies, “please,” recognizing with an instinct he doesn’t dispute that Jared will know how to quench the sudden shattering inferno building in his veins.

Jared pulls his fingers away and removes his trousers in very little time.

Jensen cannot tear his eyes away from the sight of Jared slicking up his cock with additional salve and Jensen feels wide open with need.

“We must go slowly,” Jared says, words trembling in his throat. “I have no desire to hurt you at all, Jensen.”

“You won’t,” Jensen replies, sure of it in ways he cannot name.

“My beautiful, trusting man, you are a treasure of exceptional worth,” Jared breathes as he curls Jensen’s legs higher up his chest and positions his cock at Jensen’s slick hole.

The penetration is so deliberate as to be nearly maddening.

Jensen writhes on just the tip of Jared’s cock, wanting to know the full length of his manhood, but Jared will not be deterred -- his body is sleek with perspiration, drops falling from the tips of his hair and it’s clear it’s taking momentous effort to maintain the gradual pace and yet nothing Jensen does can expedite the process.

He pulls and drags and Jared’s thighs so hard he’s certain to be leaving marks and yet Jared’s only response is to take hold of Jensen’s wrists and pin them to the bed.

Jensen has no choice but to succumb to Jared’s tempo.

They both breath heavily and flush wildly from the heat and pleasure when Jared finally buries himself to the hilt and remains rooted deep inside for long, drawn out moments.

When he draws back and begins to move, Jensen’s entire body lights like tinder on a dry day.

It shouldn’t feel this good. Logically it makes no sense that a joining like this should feel anything other than uncomfortable, but something in Jensen must be wired to Jared because the invasion, the claiming, the stretching of Jensen’s inner muscles to accommodate Jared’s width and girth as it plunders in and out and back and forth seems more right than anything Jensen has experienced to this point in his existence.

The cadence gets rough and Jensen welcomes the heated friction, building pleasure and ecstasy into a frenzy of gasped breaths and rapid heartbeats, and this time, when his body takes him to the precipice and hurls him over, he clamps down on Jared’s solid manhood and the fullness, the sense of Jared’s cock lodged so deeply inside him shatters his every nerve ending and the rapture of spilling his seed makes his entire body bow upward in a rigid arch of abject pleasure.

He only distantly hears Jared’s groan and quiet, “gods, I can feel you,” so caught up in his own ecstasy at the hands of another person that it’s difficult to stay grounded.

He realizes Jared has found his release at the ease at which his manhood moves within Jensen’s body, the wetness in abundance with more than just the salve.

They hold tightly to one another, breathing raggedly, and Jensen is awed at the changes the night has brought.

Jensen cannot help the small sound that leaves his lips when Jared’s cock slips out of his body. The emptiness in the wake of Jared’s manhood is something Jensen did not expect to feel. He likes when Jared is a part of him; more than he ever thought he would.

They trade lazy kisses and touches for an undetermined amount of time. Indeed, Jensen finds he cannot keep from sliding his fingers all along Jared’s skin, marveling at the dynamic sensations it produces.

Jared nuzzles the side of Jensen’s face. “Such a studious expression. Are you alright?”

Jensen nods, “Very much. I just find touching you is like chain lightning bouncing between the clouds.”

“With you I feel as though I could ride the clouds, green eyes.”

Jensen chuckles, “It would be quite a sight. I’m sure the entire manor would enjoy being witness to that.”

They discuss idle topics: the prosperity of the village, their childhoods, their eagerness for peace. The words are peppered with kisses, slight touches and memorizing glances, all of which make the hours that evening blends into night quite special.

It is the sound of someone calling good night to a neighbor in the village that causes Jared to lift his head with a recalcitrant expression. “Gods, I do not wish to leave you.”

Without considering the consequences, Jensen places his lips along Jared’s chin and responds, “I do not wish for you to leave.”

They are still for but a few moments before Jensen relents, “But I know that you must.”

It’s slow, the subsequent cleanup and gathering of Jared’s belongings -- their reluctance to separate nearly a tangible entity in the room.

Jared scoops Jensen up one more time, kisses him with an intensity rivaled only by that of Mother Nature herself and whispers, “Sleep tight my green-eyed truth sayer.”

When the door closes behind him, Jensen feels gratification from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, his body still humming from Jared’s touch and presence.

It is a while before he fully submits to slumber.

***

Despite having heard the drawbridge lowered early in the morning, Jared is not made aware of the scrying until he returns from his rounds guarding the southern perimeter to find Jensen pushing out of Christian’s grip as the two exit the castle and stumbling rather violently, only catching himself to remain upright at the last possible second.

Jared’s across the bailey before he can fully take his next breath. “Jensen, what happened?”

Jensen jerks his head up, surprise and deflection evident in his expression. “Jared…” he struggles to breathe a bit. “I thought you were...on guard…”

Jared reaches for Jensen’s forearm with his gloved hand. “My rounds ended moments ago. What happened?”

Jensen sags against Jared before immediately attempting to right himself. “All is w-well.”

Jared clenches his jaw and is about to contradict the blatant lie when Christian interrupts, “Scouts discovered a garrison of knights not far from the castle perimeter. Heyerdahl called for scrying to be done to determine their intentions. Despite the fact that there were only a handful of them, their manner was not...agreeable. It’s taxing for him.”

Jared notes Jensen’s gray pallor and obvious weakness. “How often does scrying make him like this?”

“It depends on the duration and number of people. He is typically quite drained.”

“And Heyerdahl does nothing to ease the condition?”

Christian’s expression holds both parts bitterness and contempt. “You were at the knight’s appointment. Did you see any easement given?”

Jared clenches his jaw in protest of the type of treatment Jensen has endured seemingly his entire life. Jensen deserves the world; the thought of Heyerdahl seeing Jensen as nothing more than an instrument with which to derive truth leaves a sour, burning feeling in  
Jared’s stomach.

Jensen pushes against Jared’s chain-mail covered chest with the force of a newly born kitten. “It is quite...disgraceful to discuss...a man’s well-being when he stands well within ear shot.”

Jensen manages to wiggle out of Jared’s grip and teeters alarmingly. With an exasperated huff, Jared reaches out again, tucks his left shoulder beneath Jensen’s right and locks Jensen’s arm around his neck. He curls the gloved fingers of his opposite hand into Jensen’s hip, securing them together.

“Jared,” Jensen protests.

“Hush,” Jared demands softly. “We need to get you to the stables so you can rest,” he pivots to face Christian, all but dragging Jensen with him. “Thank you, Christian for seeing to his care all these years. I will help him from here.”

Christian nods, a grin flickering on his lips. “I figured you would.”

Jared returns the acknowledgement and starts toward the stables.

“J-Jared,” Jensen whispers. “This...is unseemly.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?” Jared asks.

Struggling in Jared’s hold, Jensen murmurs another objection.

“Is it mere exhaustion or do you have pain?” Jared inquires, impatience skittering along his spine.

“We...should not be seen thusly,” Jensen says again.

Jared squeezes Jensen’s wrist in his gloved fist, stops walking and leans in so that his nose slides along Jensen’s cheek. “I swear by the gods I will pick you up over my shoulders and carry you to your cottage. Is that what you want? Because this could be made quite unseemly if you wish it, Jensen.”

Jensen sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back, but the expression on his face says it’s more than Jared’s words that produced the reaction. His voice holds awe when he whispers, “Jared…”

“What, green eyes? What is it?”

Jensen’s free hand trembles when he lifts it to Jared’s jaw. “Your touch…”

Jared rubs his cheek against Jensen’s palm. He can’t help it. Having Jensen in his arms is the only time he feels truly content. “I know, sweetling. Come. You need to rest.”

Jensen shakes his head. “When my skin touches yours…”

Jared waits.

“It...I am not sure...somehow gives me strength,” Jensen finishes, both parts amazed and perplexed.

Jared frowns, even as Jensen’s fingers move across his chin, but as he watches, it’s almost as though he can see a bit of color return to Jensen’s countenance. With the tip of his teeth and an instinct as old as time, he sheds the glove from the hand holding Jensen’s wrist and wraps his bare fingers around Jensen’s. “Truly?”

Jensen inhales shakily, but he smiles. “Truly.”

The urge to kiss Jensen is so intense, Jared wastes no more time getting them back to the cottage, thinking if even touches as slight as those they shared in the bailey can help, surely true skin on skin should be the boon Jensen needs.

He deposits Jensen on his mattress as gently as he’s able and begins stripping tunics and undershirts.

“Jared,” Jensen admonishes. “It is the middle of the afternoon.”

Jared has to smile at Jensen’s scandalized expression. “I am aware. Let us see if we can get you better, though. Just touching, nothing more. We shall keep our trousers on.”

Jensen appears as though he will protest again when Jared tosses his own shirt to the floor, crawls to the head of the mattress and opens his arms and legs. “Come, green eyes. I think this will help both of us.”

Jared can see the difficulty Jensen has inching up the bed, but he eventually settles, his back against Jared’s chest. Jared slides his arms along Jensen’s, hands on top of Jensen’s, laces their fingers together and wraps them both up.

Jensen inhales raggedly, but his lungs billow out deep and clean.

“Good?” Jared whispers into Jensen’s ear.

“Very.”

They’re quiet for a bit until Jensen squirms, “Jared….I do not…”

“Be still,” Jared says against Jensen’s head. “You are alright.”

“Jared, I do not wish to be a tease,” Jensen admits quickly, practically in one breath.

Jared pulls back and twists around a bit so he can look in Jensen’s eyes. “A what?”

Jensen glances away, sheepish expression on his face. “A t-tease. I have heard Mike talk about some of the m-maidens and he says they tease him with their wiles but do not plan to make good on the promise,” Jensen risks a glance back up and his green eyes hold an apology. “I do not think I’m able to lie with you this afternoon. Not in the ways you have taught me to enjoy.”

A bright frisson of pleasure dances along Jared’s spine at Jensen’s words. It is a real joy to know that he can bring Jensen that kind of gratification, but he ignores the carnal awareness he always seem to have of the man in his arms to address the other pressing issue. “First, my sweet, green-eyed man, you doubtless should not be taking romantic advice from the likes of Mike. I wager he would not have as many problems with the ladies if he would be able to keep some of the promises he makes to them.”

Jensen frowns, obviously considering this new vantage.

“Secondly,” Jared continues with a gentle squeeze, “you are the most guileless person I know. I do not think you could tease even if you wanted to.”

Jensen huffs a little at that. “I could if I wanted.”

Jared grins and places a soft kiss against Jensen’s temple. “Watching you try would certainly be interesting.”

Jensen wiggles against Jared’s skin, but says nothing.

“And finally,” Jared murmurs. “This, right here, is not about prurient intent. I would never ask of you what you are unable or unwilling to give. I think,” Jared stretches his arms open, taking Jensen’s hands along with the motion, “this is helping you, yes?”

Jensen nods as he watches their joined fingers.

“Then that is all I require. I want to see you healthy and happy, not ashen and exhausted as you were after the scrying. If being like this can help you, I relish the opportunity to provide you some kind of solace.”

Jensen sighs, slips his fingers out of Jared’s and turns over, rubbing the buckskin of their trousers together, tucking his head under Jared’s chin. “Jared?” he asks, grazing his palm along the inside of Jared’s elbow. “Are you magic?”

Jared scratches his blunt nails up Jensen’s spine and delights in the shiver it produces. Burying his nose in Jensen’s hair, he whispers, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“This,” Jensen murmurs, measuring the length of Jared’s forearm with the back-and-forth motion of his fingers, “This is something almost...otherworldly.”

“For me, too,” Jared agrees.

Jensen lifts his head. “Truly? But Jared, you have traveled many kingdoms, been...with many men. How…” his voice trails off, but Jared understands the question.

“I know not, green eyes,” Jared assures, while tracing the outline of Jensen’s cheek. “But I can tell you true, this is not something I’ve experienced in any of my journeys. When you and I are together, no matter the circumstance, I feel both alive and serene at the same time. It might, indeed, be magic.”

Jared can tell from from the shimmer in Jensen’s eyes that he senses the veracity of the statement from more than just Jared’s words. With a kiss to Jared’s collarbone, he rests his head again over Jared’s heart.  
Jared’s hand drifts into Jensen’s hair, letting some of the longer strands catch between his fingers.

“I have to cut it myself,” Jensen admits, voice soft with a self-conscious air. “I cannot stand to have anyone touch me so closely. That is why it looks so frazzled.”

Jared hums against Jensen’s head and replies, “I happen to like frazzled, but if you would ever care for my help, all you need to do is ask.”

Jensen pops his head up once again, but Jared continues his stroking. “Truly? You would cut my hair for me?”

Jared smiles, “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

Jensen giggles and again lays his cheek over Jared’s chest.

Jared jostles him. “What? That little laugh means you’re ready to offer up a rare moment of teasing.”

Jared can feel Jensen’s smile against his skin. “I never pictured you as a lady’s maid.”

Chuckling, Jared settles deeper into the mattress. “For you, green eyes, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do or be.”

Neither of them fully fall asleep, but time passes along lazily, both of them listening to the sounds of the bailey outside and the insects zapping along the walls as they caress each other’s skin and savor the shared nearness.

By the time Jared takes his leave and says goodbye with a swift but scorching kiss, Jensen’s color and smile have both returned permanently.

***

“Jared, I assure you, there will be no need for me to know this,” Jensen grumbles even as he trails Jared, albeit rather slowly, through the back end of the barley fields.

Jared continues walking, moving beyond the tall grains. “All I request is that you mollify me for a few moments.”

Jared had awakened in the dark hours of the night with a growing sense of restless apprehension concerning Jensen’s well-being. It’s not something he can nail down to a finite source, just a vexing itch under his skin that he cannot quell.

He knows it’s impossible to spend every waking moment in Jensen’s company, so he’s decided teaching him some of the basic defence moves from his knight training could help if something happens outside of Jared’s presence.

Jared stops a few yards outside the last row of barley, in an open space well beyond the sight of the village or castle proper, but still within the walls of the manor.

“What would a sayer of truths need with the training of a knight?” Jensen muses aloud as he faces Jared.

“Patience, as they say, green eyes, is a virtue,” Jared grins.

Jensen’s eyes roll heavenward, but he wears an expression of clemency, so Jared begins.

“Combat is very much like a dance.”

Jensen’s green eyes sparkle and he steps a little closer, “If you wish to dance with me, Jared, you only need ask.”

A chuckle shakes its way through Jared’s stomach and he moves into Jensen’s orbit, unable to resist taking him in his arms as he would a maiden and spinning them once in a broad circle in the grass.

Jensen makes a noise that sounds very much like “eep,” but he laughs and -- as has been the recent case -- his body flows with Jared, no hesitation at all.

Jared ends the impromptu waltz with a soft kiss and deliberately puts an arm span between them. “Serious, now,” he bades and Jensen adopts a mock stern expression.

“The reason combat is like a dance,” and Jared’s heart flutters at Jensen’s small smile, “is because it’s about give and take. Yes, there is might involved when swords clash, but truly, that constant attack cannot continue without wearing down each combatant. Because of that, we learn to parry.”

Jensen nods in understanding and Jared enjoys the fact that it’s obvious he’s truly listening.

“With a sword, you already know which hand someone will use because they keep their weapon on the opposite hip,” Jared continues. “But with smaller weapons they can often be camouflaged.”

Jared taps the dagger on his right thigh, “Even when I am without my sword, I am never without this,” he pulls the weapon from the scabbard and shows Jensen the shine. “I keep it sharp at all times. A dull knife does no good to anyone.”

Jensen’s eyes widen as he looks at the blade.

“We are taught to keep our eyes on the weapons and the hands that wield them,” Jared instructs. “It matters not what the enemy says or where he may be looking. All that matters is the arc of his weapon, so watch that.”

Jensen does as bade and Jared murmurs, “Good.”

Jensen grins a bit, but doesn’t take his eyes off the dagger.

“Keeping your knees bent will give you the leverage needed to feint whichever way the blade strikes,” Jared explains. “It is far easier to move from a bent knee than a stiff one.”

Jensen sinks a fraction of an inch lower and Jared’s stomach warms.

“There is normally some kind of tell. A twitch of a hand or a ripple of a shoulder before an enemy strikes. It will give you that split second moment to know how to parry.”

Jensen nods.

“So, as an example, if I would strike like this,” Jared moves in what would be a quick forward strike, but he slows the motion down slightly, so as not to actually hurt Jensen.

Jensen immediately dodges in a perfect evasive maneuver and Jared says, “Exactly!”

Jensen smiles wide and pronounces, “I think I understand. The idea is to move along with the attack so as not to present a target.”

The tightness around Jared’s chest -- that has been with him since he woke from his dream the previous evening -- loosens a bit at Jensen’s words.

His truth sayer is wise with far more than simple clairvoyance.

The lesson continues until they risk missing their evening meal. Eventually, it turns to mostly play, Jensen’s smile wide and happy, but Jared is satisfied that Jensen has the instincts to protect himself should the need arise.

Jared just hopes it never does.

***

“Let’s leave.”

The words are whispered so delicately into the skin just under Jensen’s ear that for a moment, Jensen’s not sure he heard them.

He pulls back to see Jared’s face and can’t help but rub himself, just once, along the other man’s spent, replete, but very naked body. They’re in Jensen’s bed and the sun has long since set and the warmth and nearness of Jared make Jensen’s head spin a little. He smiles, brushes the tips of their noses together and asks, “What?”

Jared’s fingers skim the knobs of Jensen’s spine and the touch, the outright caress, is as hypnotic as it is arousing. “Let’s leave,” Jared murmurs again. “Just you and me. We’ll get out from under Heyerdahl and make our own place in the world.”

Something that feels a lot like hope takes shape in Jensen’s chest, but he knows it’s a fool’s dream and he chuckles. “And how, pray tell, would we survive?”

Jared cups Jensen’s thigh. “We’ll figure it out. We’re smart. It will work, Jensen. Let’s just go.”

It’s beautiful, the thought, and being connected as they are, Jensen recognizes how much Jared believes it’s possible and as much as Jensen wants to entertain the idea, and he does, so much so it’s like the hunger of a starving man, or the thirst of a desert nomad — it’s a need he feels with every beat of his heart — but since that long-forgotten summer when he was six, Jensen knows what promises life holds for him.

And this, having Jared like this every day, just the two of them, isn’t among them.

It’s with real reluctance that he shakes his head, “There’s no place I can go that Lord Heyerdahl won’t find me, Jared, you know that. I’m his property, his chattel, and he’d never let his weapon go. We’ll be hunted all our lives. We can’t have one eye on the future and one eye at our backs.”

“Heyerdahl could be looking at war on two different fronts. He won’t have the time or resources to pursue one person,” Jared counters.

Jensen closes his eyes. Even entwined together as they are, their spent seed still drying on their stomachs and legs wrapped up tight enough that it’s difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins — Jensen’s favorite place to be — he knows with a sense he hasn’t questioned since he was but a boy that it’s all slipping through his fingers day by day.

Jared, his kisses, his smiles, his laugh, the touch of another human being, all of it.

It was never meant to be his.

Jensen the True, alone since birth, never part of the world, only an instrument of it.

He inhales, deeply, tries to bring Jared’s scent into his very soul so as never to forget it. He opens his eyes to find Jared staring, hazel eyes so genuine, no guile in their depths, and Jensen cards the fingers of his left hand through the mahogany strands of Jared’s hair and implores, “My brave knight, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Jared smiles and nuzzles against Jensen’s hand not unlike Talon when he wants a cuddle and despite the size difference, the comparison is apt. “I never tire of listening to you, green eyes.”

Jensen’s thumb sweeps Jared’s brow for a beat, two, and he continues, “Good, then hear me now. You…Jared, you could rule over your own keep, your own manor. Surely you know that.”

Jared’s eyes narrow in speculation and thought, but he doesn’t answer.

With Jensen touching him, there is no need. The truth hums between their skin like a third heartbeat.

“I’ve seen how the knights follow you, listen to you,” Jensen says. “I know how the village adores you. You’re as kind as you are brave and would make an excellent ruler — one to bring peace to the lands. I know it.”

And Jensen prays to every god he’s heard of that Jared understands the veracity of his statement, the kind of influence he could have, the difference he could make in the lives of the people.

“You…” and Jensen balks a bit at this one, but continues after a deep inhalation. “You could have a wife and heirs, a lineage to carry on your beliefs and your character and it could affect the kingdom and its people for decades to come.”

And for the first time in his life, Jensen wishes he could share his abilities with another person, if for no other reason than for Jared to see — truly see — how very much Jensen believes what he says.

Jared’s quiet for five or six passing moments, but his fingers still pet Jensen’s skin fondly. It’s when Jared’s knuckles graze Jensen’s chin that he asks, “You would be rid of me so easily?”

Jensen shakes his head, willing away the painful emotion in his voice through steel resolve alone. “Were it my choice to make, I would never leave your side,” he vows, “but, Jared, you are destined for far greater things than a single room in a stable and a man whose very existence is that of a weapon and nothing more. I can feel it like the air on the summer wind and the water in the village cisterns.”

As much as it costs him to say it, and each word is like a barb buried deep in Jensen’s soul, he knows he can’t be the reason Jared doesn’t achieve greatness.

He can’t.

Jared inhales, “My sweet, impossible, selfless man, can you not see that all of that — all of it — would mean nothing to me without you?”

Jensen shakes his head, “Jared…”

“If you are not willing to hear it, then feel it,” Jared commands, caging Jensen’s jaw in both of his palms, forcing him to make eye contact. “Jensen,” his voice is like a sword being drawn from the scabbard. “Feel the truth of it.”

And as much as Jensen wants to resist, he could never deny Jared a thing, and this moment is no exception. The truth of Jared’s statement swirls through Jensen, bringing a warm glow to his stomach that reminds Jensen of nothing more than their first touch in the great hall, when everything Jensen had known was shattered like the target of a war cannon.

And the sweetest of pleasures, before utterly unimaginable, were given to him by Jared’s hand.

Jensen knows Jared believes that without Jensen, all of life’s riches would mean nothing.

Still, Jensen shakes his head. “Jared, no. You…can’t. This," and it frustrates Jensen that he's struggling to make himself understood. "Us. We're...not usual."

Jared simply grins.

Jensen huffs an irritated sound. "You know that men are meant to marry a woman to produce heirs. You and I go against natural law."

Jared places his lips between Jensen's eyebrows. "Feels pretty natural to me."

"You cannot have a manor or a kingdom to rule with me by your side and you know it."

“According to whom?" Jared questions, pulling away to make eye contact. "You know as well as I that we have supporters here. Misha. Christian. Jeffrey Dean has no problem with us. Indeed, there are more knights than you know who couldn't care less about what we do in our bed, only that we continue to do our parts to maintain the keep and its people. You think I don't see how the village responds to you? You help them when they're hurt. You care for them so they stay well. They worship you."

Jensen wraps his fingers around Jared's bicep, in part because the muscle is so well-defined from the exercises in the bailey and in part because he just wants to touch Jared. "The church wouldn't accept it. King Richings wouldn't accept it."

"You're certain of that?" Jared asks. "Hmmm? You think it's impossible merely because it's never been? We could have it. Exactly what you're describing. A manor with people who respect others, regardless of the differences. People who work for the good of the village and care about peace."

It's a dazzling dream and Jensen wants to believe it so badly, but he can't ignore that which he's known all his life. "Jared," he whispers. “I’m not worth it.”

Jared’s expression, as his thumbs sweep Jensen’s cheeks, is one of affection mixed with an odd appearance of heartache. “My gorgeous, green-eyed truth sayer, your worth could never be given a price. All that I have and more. The breath in my lungs, the heart in my chest, the soul in my body. Never believe otherwise.”

“Jared,” Jensen breathes.

“And there is nothing I wouldn’t do and no one I wouldn’t challenge to keep you with me and safe.”

This stirs a sudden seed of apprehension in Jensen, a disturbing coldness that chases down his spine. “Jared, don’t make such a statement.”

Jared grins. “Am I not to speak truth to the truth sayer? It seems foolish and counterproductive to do otherwise, Jensen.”

“Do not jest.”

Jared trails his hands along Jensen’s elbows and wiggles his way closer, locking his arms around Jensen’s back. “A knight never jests. He is valiant and true in face of all danger.”

And suddenly, a reality Jensen hadn’t considers crystallizes in his mind and he can feel the very real possibility of losing Jared to something other than a kingdom and a legacy. A darkness, the likes of which Jensen has never known, condenses around him like ash at the thought of a world that doesn’t have Jared in it, lost to the blade of a sword and an irrational impulse to keep Jensen safe at all costs.

Fear makes Jensen pull back. “Jared, no. You can’t say things like that. You can’t do anything rash.”

“When have I ever done anything rash?” Jared asks with obvious fraudulent aplomb.

Before, Jensen would have tried to tease Jared, laughing about the many times Jared’s impetuous nature has landed him in precarious situations.

But, now.

Now, Jensen has to make Jared understand.

He isn’t worth Jared’s life.

“Jared, please,” Jensen all but begs. “You have to promise me.”

“Hmmm,” Jared hums, leaning forward to brush his lips against Jensen’s collarbone. “What would you have me promise, green eyes? To handle your most valuable sword with care? I promise.”

Jensen grabs a fistful of Jared’s hair. “Don’t distract me.”

Jared just smiles. “Would you have me promise to kiss you every day? I promise.”

And he connects their mouths with clear intent to take the kiss beyond chaste to carnal.

Despite the shivers in his belly, Jensen pulls away, determined not to be deterred. “Jared, please,” Jensen urges. “Promise me you won’t do anything dangerous to protect me.”

Jared stares at Jensen’s mouth and doesn’t speak.

“Please promise me,” Jensen tries again.

“If you want me to make that promise, you have to release me.”

“W-Why?” Jensen asks, although he’s sure he already knows the answer.

“Because you can’t be touching me when I lie to you if you want to believe it.”

Jensen shakes his head.

“Jensen, you have to know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. No matter what.”

The truth of the statement curls warm in Jensen’s stomach, even as it freezes the blood in his veins.

He wraps himself up in Jared, bodily, arms and legs, thinking if he could keep him here, like this, for all of time, he would be safe.

Fear and dark anticipation rachet Jensen’s heartbeat and the reaction transmits to his cock as arousal. He wants to protest, wants to shake Jared until he understands what his loss would mean to the village, the manor, the world, but he gets caught up in the wildness building between them and his worry races for the outlet it’s presented.

When their mouths connect again, it’s erotic, hard, primitive and Jensen suddenly needs Jared inside him like he requires breath in his lungs. He tries to express it, but cannot pull away from Jared’s lips to speak. Instead he grinds his hips into Jared’s solid, blood-thick cock, pulling his knee over Jared’s hip, opening his body in the only way he can.

Jared growls in the back of his throat and responds with a forceful thrust, lining the wet tip of his manhood up right against Jensen’s vulnerable, sensitive hole.

It’s so close to exactly what he wants without having said a word, Jensen’s body takes over and rushes to the precipice in the time it takes Jensen to gasp four times in rapid succession and he’s hurled over the edge, his release spilling hot and white between them. He can just feel his rim spasm around the head of Jared’s cock.

“Sweet gods have mercy,” Jared curses and shoves again, only the head of his cock slipping inside as his orgasm overtakes him, wetting Jensen’s buttocks and tailbone with semen.

They cling to one another as their breathing returns to a more sedate pace.

The hours have stretched by the time Jared takes his leave. They stand just inside the stable doors and share one more, deep, evocative, parting kiss.

They have eyes and silly smiles only for each other.

They fail to notice intense the scrutiny from the shadows.

***

Devon, who had turned eight only a fortnight ago, steps up to the line Jared had drawn in the dirt and holds the horseshoe tightly in his hand.

“Keeping your eye on the stake is the key,” Jared murmurs. “Swing back with your arm like I showed you and release the shoe. You can do it.”

The little boy takes a deep breath and a quick glance around all the children and villagers watching and does exactly what Jared suggested.

The horseshoe arcs through the air in a remarkably coordinated curve for being thrown by one so young and lands extremely close to the stake.

A shout of huzzah erupts from the spectators and Devon’s grin is nearly blinding.

“Wonderful!” Jared assesses.

Not to be outdone, Devon’s sister, Ella, steps up with a horseshoe grasped in both her little hands and a look of pure determination on her face.

Jensen watches from a bench close to the action. He’s not used to being so near the entertainment, but in truth, he doesn’t want to miss a moment of Jared bringing the game of horseshoes to Greenbriar Manor. It’s an activity the children -- and adults alike -- would play in Canterbury and when Tom provided some outdated horseshoes, Jared jumped at the chance to instruct the little ones.

Now, faced with Ella, only five summers and struggling marginally just to hold the horseshoe, Jared raises a hand and commands her to wait.

He steps closer to the stake and proceeds to explain that there is a height allowance and anyone under a certain measurement is permitted to throw from not so great a distance.

This delights Ella tremendously and she toddles up the new line.

Jensen’s glance jumps from the girl to Jared and he’s rewarded with a wink and confirmation that Jared’s new “rule” wasn’t all that customary.

“All right Ella,” Jared begins. “Take your time and make sure you aim--”

In the middle of the instructions, Ella twists at the waist and with rather exceptional force for a little one slings the horseshoe with little to no focus in the direction of the stake. The heavy metal projectiles misses Jared's shin only because of his quick reflexes.

Jared leaps back with a mumbled, “By all the gods--”

Jensen coughs. Loudly.

It’s the only thing that stops the oath that was likely to leave Jared’s lips.

Jared heaves a sigh and a belabored look to Jensen and his voice is far more smooth than Jensen would have believed him capable at the moment. “I say, Ella, that was a good try, poppet. Truly.”

With visible reluctance, Jared retrieves the horseshoe and hands it back to the girl, this time mindful of taking three full steps away from the child. “Keep your eye on the stake, Ella.”

She obeys. Indeed, she remains facing forward this time. Alas, the horseshoe flies backward over her head, and lands amazingly close to Jared’s toes.

Jensen covers his mouth to hide his grin. It’s difficult not to chuckle.

Dawning worry crosses Jared’s countenance as he picks up the horseshoe and again returns to Ella. “Goodness, little mite, it would appear your horseshoe has a particular attraction to my person. Would it be alright, fair maiden, if this time I might help by guiding your hand?”

Ella nods her head, blond hair swishing against her shoulders.

Jared kneels behind the girl and more than likely takes most of the weight of the horseshoe and brings her arm back and forward and they both release the metal.

This time, with Jared’s help, the throw is much more coordinated and it lands quite close to the stake.

Ella spins in Jared’s arms, expression on of pure adoration and awe.

Jared grins at her and exclaims, “Huzzah!”

Ella squeals and jumps three times before racing to her mother’s arms.

Jared rises from his crouch with the grace of many of the keep’s cats -- sleek and sure and adept, his muscles playing inside his trousers and tunic with gorgeous fluidity. The gleam in his eye tells Jensen there’s mischief afoot.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jared addresses the crowd. “I feel it is time we see how accomplished our truth sayer is at horseshoes.”

Jensen inhales sharply and jerks his eyes to meet Jared’s inviting expression. Jensen shakes his head, “That won’t be necessary, Jared. I can assure you with words alone I have never before played the game.”

Jared scoffs and moves toward Jensen, horseshoe in his hand. “I am certainly not seeking a professional, Jensen. Merely curious as to your capabilities.”

A warmth blossoms in Jensen’s belly for Jared’s tone and visage remind him of their time spent in Jensen’s bed, learning all the ways men can give and receive pleasure.

It’s certainly not an appropriate reaction for the bailey, in front of virtually the entire village.

Jensen continues his negative response. “I will have no capabilities, Jared. I have never held a horseshoe for such a reason before.”

Jared’s smile is absolute imp. “Surely you’re slightly curious as to whether you could learn the capabilities necessary for success?”

Jensen is positive Jared is no longer talking about just the game of horseshoes and despite the fact that Jensen wants to keep what they do under the linen covers private, his body responds to Jared’s innuendo in front of all the gods and every person in the bailey.

He’s never been more grateful for the length of his tunic before.

Unfortunately, by this time, the idea has taken hold of others in the village and people are suggesting do try it, Jensen and just see if you have an aptitude for it.

Any true protest on his part would more than likely arouse suspicion, so with a belabored huff, he stands and moves toward the line Jared had drawn in the dirt.

Jared’s smirk and raised eyebrow are as bothersome as they are provocative. “I could help guide your arm as I did for Ella…”

Jensen takes the horseshoe in his right hand and pushes at Jared’s chest with his left, knowing he will never be able to hide his physical reaction to having Jared stand that close. “That won’t be necessary.”

“But I do so enjoy the chance to teach, Jensen,” Jared’s words are hopefully soft enough to not carry.

“Then I fear you must learn to handle disappointment, Jared,” Jensen counters under his breath.

“Not a day with you would I know disappointment, green eyes,” Jared whispers and Jensen has to shove him back a step before the entire manor discerns the nature of their relationship.

Jared acquiesces but not without surreptitiously sliding his fingers over the top of Jensen’s hand as he moves away.

If the horseshoe wobbles a bit in Jensen’s grip, he just hopes the distance is too great for anyone to realize.

Jensen inhales to settle his nerves and stares at the stake, standing ten of Jared’s strides away. Excitement shimmies through him and he wonders if Jared could see how anxious he actually was to give this a try and that’s why he’d made the suggestion.

As Jensen had watched the children, his interest was piqued -- it did look fun.

Now that he’s here, he truly focuses on making a good toss.

Doing as Jared advised, he keeps his attention on the stake and stretches his arm out to follow the horseshoe when he releases it into the air.

It’s by no means perfect, but for the first time since the game began, the steel shoe actually clinks against the stake and nearly gets caught.

The crowd cheers and Jared’s full-bellied huzzah can be heard over the clamor.

It should be ludicrous, the nearly overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment Jensen feels knowing that he’s pleased Jared with his success and when Jensen turns -- smile nearly making his cheeks hurt, wanting to celebrate with Jared -- he finds Lord Heyerdahl and his guard watching from the east end of the field.

“I knew you would have an eye for this, Jensen!” Jared exclaims as he all but bounces over and for a wild, alarming instant, Jensen is almost certain Jared’s going to kiss him right out in the open.

“Jared,” Jensen fairly hisses. “Lord Heyerdahl…”

Jared lifts a shoulder casually. “I saw him.”

As though their quiet discussion rouses him, Lord Heyerdahl says, “Perhaps others could partake in the enjoyment of the game, Jared.”

Jared sighs and glances back to address the lord. “Of course, sir. All are welcome.”

“Wonderful,” Lord Heyerdahl beams. “I would think forming a line of those willing to participate would work best.”

Jared nods without speaking.

Heyerdahl claps thrice, expecting his edict to be obeyed immediately and the villagers move to comply. “And while that occurs, Jared, I would like a word.”

An icy stab of fear rips through Jensen.

“I shall require the truth sayer as well,” Lord Heyerdahl commands.

Jensen swallows hard and his mind races, grasping for any explanation for the request that makes any sense. By the time they stand next to Lord Heyerdahl, he’s at a complete loss.

To further complicate matters, Jensen can tell by Jared’s stance alone that the other man not only expects trouble, but almost relishes the mere the idea of it. Jared’s ramrod straight, his left hand twitching closer and closer to the dagger he keeps on his thigh at all times, especially when he’s without his sword, as he is this afternoon.

Jensen knows from the mock skirmishes in which Jared has persuaded him to engage that Jared is more than ready for combat.

It chills Jensen to the bone, as Lord Heyerdahl is flanked by five members of his guard.

No way would Jared survive a battle with that many knights.

With a silent prayer to the gods, Jensen faces Lord Heyerdahl.

“It has come to my attention,” Lord Heyerdahl begins. “That your loyalty may be less than it was when you first arrived at Greenbriar Manor, Jared.”

Jared laughs and the sound is completely discordant. Jensen has never heard Jared seem less jovial. “That’s ridiculous, sir. I assure you my loyalty is as true now as it was that very day.”

Lord Heyerdahl’s eyes narrow. “Of course, you know I need not take anyone at their word alone, Jared.”

Jared stiffens and Jensen hastens to lessen the anger by holding out his hand. “Come, Jared, let’s put the lord’s fears to rest. It is simple, really.”

After a moment or two of tense silence, Jared relents and reaches out. When their palms meet, in addition to the warmth and bliss that still comes as a surprise, Jensen finds himself wishing that his powers extended to telepathy.

Just this one thing, Jared, he tries to convey. Do not rile him up any further by a display of disdain.

“Jared, I wonder,” Lord Heyerdahl says. “Is your loyalty since arriving at Greenbriar Manor truly to me and not other members of the village? For as you are aware, a knight serves his lord, not the lord’s vassals.”

Jared keeps his eyes locked on Jensen. “My loyalty is to you, my lord.”

And Jensen can feel, deep in his heart, as the powers he’s been using since he was but a small child allow him to see, that the statement is completely and utterly false.

Jensen knows where Jared’s loyalty lies -- has had proof of it smeared all over his belly as well as buried deep inside him.

Lord Heyerdahl inhales pointedly through his nose. “It would be far easier believed if you could look at me when you say it.”

There’s true venom in Lord Heyerdahl’s words and Jared shakes himself out of their combined stare slowly.

Far more slowly than Jensen feels necessary.

With the chorded strength of Jared’s neck now in his line of vision, Jensen hears Jared repeat, “My loyalty is to you, my lord.”

Lord Heyerdahl’s hostile eyes turn to Jensen for confirmation.

And for the very first time in his existence, Jensen the True...outright lies.

Willfully.

Deliberately.

And with surprising conviction in his voice.

“It is true, Lord Heyerdahl.”

There’s nothing Jensen won’t do to keep Jared safe.

The air around them remains tense for a full five seconds.

Lord Heyerdahl nods, seemingly satisfied, but his expression still holds traces of doubt. “See that you remember,” he addresses Jared, “Not only where you are, but whose rule you are under.”

Jared nods, fingers still firmly gripped with Jensen’s.

“And,” Lord Heyerdahl continues, locking his hand in a strong hold around Jensen’s forearm. “that which belongs to your lord.”

A chill spirals all along Jensen’s limbs at the contact and words. It’s such a shocking contrast to the warmth of Jared, Jensen has to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. With a frown, Jensen notices Jared trembles as well, but he figures it’s the anger that’s curls Jared’s next words.

“Understood, Lord Heyerdahl, but with all respect due to your position and power, it would be advised that those who hold too tightly to their possessions can find they have nothing when they open their hands.”

Jensen can tell Jared’s reaching for nonchalance, but there’s enough bite in his tone that Lord Heyerdahl squeezes Jensen’s arm even tighter. “And knights that don’t watch their tongues find themselves cast out from food and shelter.”

Jensen hopes Lord Heyerdahl can’t tell that he’s clasping Jared’s hand in rhythmic pulses in an attempt to shift the other man’s powerfully intent focus. In his eyes, Jensen tries to beg please please please please.

Jared glances to Jensen, returns his forceful grip for a second and steps back, eyes downcast. “Understood, Lord Heyerdahl and I have nothing but abject appreciation for your kindness and patience with my foolish ways.”

Lord Heyerdahl tightens his vice-like grip on Jensen’s arm, causing Jensen’s fingers to tingle from lack of blood. Jensen breathes a silent sigh of relief when Lord Heyerdahl releases him with a harsh, “See that you both remember the lessons you learned today,” before spinning on his heel, guards following like mongrels and marching back to the castle.

Jared’s motionless so long Jensen begins to worry about his well-being. When he finally looks up, there’s a fire in his hazel eyes Jensen has never seen before. Jared steps forward so his heated voice carries no farther than Jensen’s ears.

“I know it would unsettle you if I kissed you right now and it is only consideration of your feelings that keep me from taking action. But accept this as my personal vow to you. One day, you and I will live in a place where we will take orders from no one and you will be treated with the respect you deserve. Mark my words, Jensen.”

Before Jensen can even respond, Jared pivots and walks toward the southern most wall of the bailey where Mike and Steve are harvesting vegetables. He’s given a hoe and starts attacking the ground with vicious swings.

With a certainty he hasn’t questioned since he was a child, Jensen realizes the lessons Jared took from the encounter were not those Lord Heyerdahl wanted to impart.

***

Half a fortnight later, Jared sneaks through the bailey, under the cover of darkness, wearing nothing more than trousers, a dark tunic and his dagger at his thigh. His stealth is well-rewarded and no one is any the wiser that he has left the castle and entered the stables and kicked out of his boots.

Indeed, Jensen isn’t even aware of his presence until he sneaks beneath the covers of his feather mattress.

Jensen jumps, spins around and whispers, “Jared! Gods, what are you doing here? It is the middle of the night.”

“I needed to see you,” Jared confesses, gathering the other man in his arms, frustrated at the layers between them.

“And you could not wait for the sun?”

Jared shakes his head, “The urgency was too great to be ignored.”

Jensen huffs a laugh, but slots his body along Jared’s so they are face to face.

Even in the faint moonlight, Jensen appears godlike, chiseled from something clearly divine -- plush lips, strong jaw, bright eyes -- and Jared does not want to go a day without taking in the sight. He traces Jensen’s succulent mouth with his thumb and whispers, “You are what the poets write about in their sonnets.”

With an expression bordering on pure skepticism, Jensen asks, “Are you addled? Have you imbibed too much ale?”

“I assure you I am perfectly sober,” Jared affirms. “I am simply quite taken with you.”

Even in the muted light, Jensen’s smile is as bright as the midday sun. “And I you.”

They remain thusly, for an undetermined amount of time, simply lying together, cataloguing each other’s features, until a passing thought rouses Jared’s tongue.

“What is it like when you touch Lord Heyerdahl?”

Jensen’s brows draw together, “What? Why do you ask?”

Jared wiggles closer. “I would swear the other day in the bailey, I could feel his touch through you.”

Jensen’s countenance turns to outright shock.

“I cannot explain it,” Jared continues. “But it was as though I could sense a chill when he took your arm while we were still connected. I was reminded of snakes hissing.”

Jensen blinks in obvious astonishment, but does not speak.

Jared shakes his head. “It is madness, I know. And impossible.”

“I believed much was impossible until I met you.”

“As did I,” Jared agrees, running his fingers along Jensen’s temple.

“Jared, surely you cannot stay here for long,” Jensen worries. “They will miss you in the knight’s quarters.”

“Jeffrey Dean is helping. He will cover for me in my absence,” Jared assures, feeling oddly vulnerable, knowing if Jensen truly wants him to go, he will leave, but it will be like cutting off a limb to do so. “Please, Jensen, all I wish is to wake with you when the sun rises and know what it is like to hold you in my arms as we slumber. Just for tonight.”

Jensen grins and tugs on the ties of Jared’s tunic, “As long as you are certain it will not bring you hardship with the lord.”

“I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Jensen nestles deeper into the mattress before raising hesitant eyes, “Jared? Before we sleep, would you fill me again? It has been too long since I have held you inside me.”

The innocent request lights Jared up in ways he cannot fully name. Knowing that Jensen enjoys their coupling as much as Jared brings a sense of fulfilment and completion that’s as comforting as it is poignant.

“I would like nothing more,” Jared murmurs, “but I fear there are far too many layers between us to make an adequate attempt.”

Jensen giggles -- an absolute high-pitched sound of merriment -- and begins shedding his sleepwear, while Jared divests himself of tunic and trousers.

They come back together, bare, and the shock of having Jensen’s skin against his never wanes. Jared dips near for a kiss but Jensen stops him with a quietly murmured, “I wish to taste you like you did me.”

The image alone of Jensen drawing on Jared’s cock with his mouth is almost enough to make Jared spend his seed. He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, searching for control, as he answers, “It is beyond my ability to deny you that which you want.”

Jensen flows down Jared’s body, dotting light kisses along the way and when he arranges himself between Jared’s legs, Jared reaches for his own cock with trembling fingers, holding it away from his stomach just as Jensen leans down.

Jared can’t help tapping the leaking tip of his manhood against Jensen’s thick lips and a blast of arousal blows through him when Jensen’s tongue lashes out for a taste.

Gods, he may not be able to do this.

“I do not think I can hold out long thusly,” Jared moans, wishing it were daylight so he could see more clearly, yet enchanted by the shadows on Jensen’s face. “Start with your tongue.”

Jensen follows the instruction immediately with kittenish licks along the head of Jared’s cock, lapping up the clear, dripping liquid.

Jared tries to control the thrust of his hips, but it’s a difficult task in the face of such trusting temptation.

Jensen is, quite literally, a willing student -- Jared’s to mold with the instruction.

It’s a heady sentiment.

“Put just the top in your mouth,” Jared directs.

Jensen engulfs only the head and it takes inordinate will on Jared’s part not to simply push up into all that wet heat, but he refrains, not wanting to move too quickly and overwhelm Jensen.

“N-Now,” and Jared can’t control the catch in his voice, “imagine it is a sweet candy. You know how you enjoy the lemon? And suck, like you would--”

The words end on a strangled groan when Jensen obeys and the intense pull of Jensen’s mouth threatens to drag Jared’s orgasm right out through the base of his spine.

“Ah, by the blood of the gods, that is extraordinary,” Jared gasps.

Jensen gets even more enthusiastic at the praise and Jared warns, “Not too hard, green eyes. It takes a gentle nursing.”

Jensen slows his ardor and quickly learns to apply just the right amount of suction to make Jared’s toes curl in the linen beneath him.

Gods, he’s a natural.

“See...ah, sweet merciful gods, s-see how much you can take into your...throat…” Jared suggests, even as the prospect threatens to spill his seed far too soon.

It’s almost torturously gradual, the speed at which Jensen lowers his face onto Jared’s cock, but the wet heat takes Jared’s breath and Jared decides to allow Jensen to find his own pace.

As Jensen consumes more and more, his eagerness overrides common sense and Jared can feel the head of his cock hit the back of Jensen’s throat, just as Jensen coughs and chokes a little.

“Carefully,” Jared warns around a ragged breath.

Jensen speaks around the very tip of Jared’s cock, “I enjoy your taste.”

The soft admission sweeps through jared like a tidal wave and he struggles to say, “I do not want you to hurt yourself.”

Jensen doesn’t speak again, simply slides his mouth back down with a hum that causes Jared’s extremities to tingle. He endures as much of Jensen’s warm, willing throat as long as he can before hooking his hands beneath Jensen’s arms and dragging him up to the head of the bed.

Jensen whines and the reluctant expression on his face at being pulled away from Jared’s cock makes Jared’s entire body clench in response.

“You will have me spend my seed too quickly and I want to be inside you when I do,” Jared explains. “Come. Ride me like your stallion resting just on the other side of those walls.”

Jensen’s countenance grows speculative and he slowly stretches a leg over Jared’s torso, settling against Jared’s waist with a soft, “Like this?”

Feeling and seeing Jensen across his middle, perched atop him like an unspoiled maiden finally discovering the joys of carnal pleasure, renders Jared nearly mute and it’s all he can do to nod and gasp, “Exactly.”

Jensen leans forward, melding their mouths together with the same suckling motion he used on Jared’s cock and the shift lines up Jensen’s warm, tender rim with the tip of Jared’s manhood with a precision that belies his innocence.

It’s nearly Jared’s undoing.

“Where,” Jared tries to speak through Jensen’s lips and the pounding in his own blood. “Where is the salve, sweetling?”

Jensen leans over to the shelving beside the bed and Jared’s cock pulses against the drag of Jensen’s puckered skin, wetting the way only marginally. Jared knows they will need more.

He wastes no time scooping up a healthy mass of the salve and applying it directly to Jensen’s furled skin.

The pleased whimpers Jensen puffs into Jared’s neck, as well as the counter-motion of his hips, tell Jared all he needs to know about Jensen’s thrill at the preparation.

“Hold on, green eyes,” Jared murmurs into Jensen’s temple. “I need to make sure you are properly stretched.”

Jensen cries out softly as Jared eases two fingers into Jensen’s tight flesh as gently as he’s able, yet with a inexorability that cannot be denied.

He wants inside that hot, secret sheath with a need that borders on devastating.

Jensen’s legs hitch and widen, even as he arches back, seeking more of Jared’s fingers and before long, they pick up a rhythm that drags copious amounts of fluid from Jensen’s leaking cock, painting Jared’s stomach translucent.

Jensen’s got a savage grip on Jared’s shoulders and he’s chanting Jared and please on a continuous loop.

Jared’s manhood throbs in time with his heart and he knows he cannot last much longer. Sending a silent prayer to the gods that Jensen has enough salve inside him to ease the way, he lifts Jensen’s hips just a slight fraction, lines his cock up with Jensen’s slippery hole and feels the rim shift and part.

Jared can’t be certain if it’s gravity or Jensen’s own need that impales them together so quickly, but between one breath and the next, Jared’s entire length is gripped firmly to the root in all of Jensen’s heat and flesh and it’s nearly impossible to breathe, but Jared chokes out, “Gods you take my sword so perfectly. Every time...it is as though we were made for each other.”

Jensen’s smile is about as coquettish as Jared’s ever seen him be and it’s almost as glorious as the clasp of his body around Jared’s cock.

“Are you prepared to ride?” Jared asks.

Jensen frowns, “Show me how?”

Jared rests both of his hands on Jensen’s pelvis and suggests, “Pretend I am Apollo and we are crossing the fields together.”

Jensen begins to buck and it is easily the most erotic experience of Jared’s life -- watching the other man work up to a real rhythm as he gets used to the width of Jared inside him. Eventually, Jensen churns his hips exactly as he would if he were riding a horse, back and forth and up and down, and the friction and the heat tempt Jared nearly beyond reason. He links his fingers with Jensen’s and murmurs, “I think surely the church cannot condemn acts like this between two men when it’s like seeing the gods all at once. To have you in my arms, dampen my sword in your sheath. It is heaven on earth.”

Jensen’s eyes flutter at Jared’s words and his body clenches tightly around Jared’s cock.

“Let us take our flight together this time,” Jared directs as he closes his fist around Jensen’s cock.

Jensen jolts like a lightning bolt shoots through him and he cries, “Jared…” just as his entire body pulses in Jared’s hand, around his cock, even against his legs.

It’s stunning, watching Jensen come apart in the moonlight, feeling and seeing his seed spread all along Jared’s stomach and chest, and it tips Jared over the edge, rocking his hips up, up, up against Jensen’s still contracting hole and they really do seem to peak at the exact same time.

Jensen collapses, perspiration wet and sated and gasping against Jared’s chest and Jared wraps his arms around the other man, tight, never having known such a level of completion before.

Long moment pass before Jensen shifts slightly, sliding off Jared, disconnecting them with a sloppy sound and slipping to the mattress, all along Jared’s left side.  
Jared immediately strokes his hand down Jensen’s spine and cannot help but dip just the tip of his finger past Jensen’s puffy, dripping rim and is amazed to see Jensen’s hips lift, trying to get the digit deeper.

Whispering against Jensen’s temple, Jared says, “Insatiable, aren’t you?”

Jensen lifts his knee higher on Jared’s hips, opening himself further to Jared’s explorations. “I like having you inside me.”

“Mmmm,” Jared hums. “I like being inside you.”

It’s at that exact moment that Talon leaps up behind Jensen on the mattress with a feline trill of greeting.

“I should warn you, there will be three in this bed,” Jensen chuckles as Jared removes his fingers.

Jared gathers the linen bedding as best as he’s able without dislodging Jensen and tucks them together. “Do I need to ask Talon’s permission to lie with you?”

As though recognizing he’s the topic of conversation, Talon walks across Jensen to Jared’s stomach and Jared grunts at the surprising weight.

Jensen snuffles against Jared’s neck. “Just don’t take his pillow and you should have no problem.”

Jared chuckles, but squeezes Jensen in his arms. “Goodnight, my gorgeous truth sayer.”

“Sleep well, my brave knight,” Jensen whispers.

Jared smiles into Jensen’s hair, as Talon settles in on the pillow beside Jared’s head.

It’s easily the best sleeping arrangement of Jared’s life.

***

Jared wakes, sans cat, and surrounded by linen and the warm skin of Jensen, who had somehow turned around in the middle of the night, so his back is tucked against Jared’s chest, on a bed of feathers and he knows the risk of staying was worth it. He also knows if given the choice, he would wake this way each morning of his life and never grow tired of it.

With a grin at the thought, he brushes the tip of his nose through the hair at the base of Jensen’s neck. It’s soft instead of coarse and the scent is alluring — a combination of the lavender Jensen loves so much and a more earthy, masculine musk.

The pallets in the knights quarters never looked so unappealing.

Jensen inhales and stretches in Jared’s arms, dragging their skin together and Jared’s cock throbs with the morning blood-rush.

Jared hums against the top of Jensen’s spine and rotates his hips once, eliciting a gasp and echoing counter-motion from Jensen.

Jensen rolls over and tilts his chin up, silent demand for a kiss Jared eagerly provides.

Jared twists his head and delves deep, relishing the sharp taste of Jensen as their hardening cocks rub together, wetting their sleep-warm bellies.

Sounds of the early morning work from the village filter through the stables and Jensen murmurs nonsense, pulling back enough to say, “You distract me, being in my bed in the morning.”

Jared mock gasps just to see the grin form on the edges of Jensen’s mouth and whispers, “Such scandal,” as his fingers spider-walk down Jensen’s stomach and grip their cocks together in his fist. “Your sword doesn’t seem to mind. Look how it clears itself of the scabbard.”

For a few acute moments, they both watch as their cockheads push out of the foreskin, grinding together, growing fat with prurient interest and need, and leaking so that it’s difficult to tell from which one the sleekness came.

“See how it grows damp, easing the way out of the scabbard and into my hand?” Jared asks softly.

Jensen pushes his entire body against Jared in one, languorous glide and groans, “Jared…”

Presented with Jensen’s stretched out skin is too much temptation; Jared leans forward to swipe his tongue along the base of Jensen’s neck.

“Ah — I have…I need,” Jensen gasps.

“I see your need,” Jared whispers. “I can feel it coating my fingers.”

Jensen shakes his head, “No…I have to,” Jensen’s legs scrabble against the linens. “Ch-chores…Jared, I have to feed the animals.”

“Your animals are well-kept,” Jared says, lips just under Jensen’s ear. “They will not starve in the next few moments.”

Jared can feel Jensen’s surrender, sense it in the melting of the other man’s body into his own, see it in the way Jensen spreads his legs wider, canting his hips back, yielding his vulnerable flesh to whatever Jared wants.

The gesture is as reverential as it is arousing.

“Is your sheath still prepared from last night?” Jared inquires. “Still well-saturated from my seed?”

Jensen mewls quietly against Jared’s collarbone and slips a knee onto Jared’s hip, opening himself even wider. “I believe further exploration is required t-to determine the answers to your questions, my brave knight.”

Jared pauses, pulls back to make eye contact. “Am I?”

Jensen’s hips jolt, seemingly of their own accord, and he’s breathless when he asks, “Are you what?”

Jared’s lungs inflate on a ragged intake of air, knowing the import of his train of thought. “Your brave knight. Am I yours, Jensen?”

Jensen blinks, green eyes vivid in the rising sunlight, and when he reaches for Jared, palm cupping his face, a shiver courses the length of Jared’s spine. “In all ways that matter, yes. You are mine, just as I am yours, Jared. I think I always have been.”

Jared smiles, chest growing warm, and whispers, “Truth.”

The laughter from Jensen’s lips sounds surprised. “Are you the sayer of truths now?”

“Yours and mine, yes,” Jared chuckles.

Jensen snuggles closer, rubbing their cocks together in a delicious slide that leaves them both unable to catch a breath.

Jared goes in for a kiss.

A shout from the bailey pulls him up short.

The sound of the drawbridge being lowered is like a shock of cold water.

Being skin-on-skin allows Jared to feel the sudden tension in Jensen when the other man asks, “Was there a meeting planned?”

“Certainly none that the knights were aware of,” Jared assures.

The pounding on the stable door jars both men into action, grabbing discarded clothes and scrambling to appear presentable.

“Jensen!” It’s Misha and his voice holds alarm. “Open the door!”

Jared skirts around Jensen, who’s still struggling with his tunic, and moves to the front of the stable.

Jensen hisses, “Jared, no! You can’t be seen here!”

An unsettling feeling snakes through Jared and he turns, takes the three steps necessary to be back in Jensen’s space and holds Jensen’s face in his palms. “Misha is our friend. He knows I was here last night. He and Jeffrey Dean helped me. Besides, I fear there are bigger issues at hand than the village finding that I spent the night in your bed.”

Jared’s instincts seize him and he leans in for a scorching kiss, one that he hopes conveys not only the depths of his feelings, but the need to keep Jensen safe.

Misha’s pounding grows in volume and when Jared pulls open the door, the other man stumbles inside.

“Where’s Jensen?” Misha demands.

Jared gestures just as Jensen steps into the stable.

Misha goes to grab Jensen, but Jensen dances out of the way of the touch. “What is is, Misha?”

“Lord Pileggi and his guard are here. According to the sentry, he wants to discuss his terms for peace.”

“His terms?” Jensen questions.

Misha shakes his head, “That’s all I know.”

The anxious look in Jensen's eyes spears Jared to the core and he suddenly wants nothing more than to be back in the bed, not a few feet away, wrapped up in Jensen, knowing that he’s safe.

Instead, he inhales deeply and faces the looming dispute between the two lords. “I’ll go to the castle. Lord Heyerdahl will expect his knights to have his back. Misha, send word to Tom and Steve. Let them know what’s happening and have them get Mike ready to get the villagers either out of the manor or safe in hiding somewhere in case this goes poorly. The children should definitely be sent to the bolt hole so they can get out first.”

Misha nods.

Jared runs a hand through his hair and continues, letting his instincts guide him. “I’ll go through the kitchen and warn Christian of Lord Pileggi’s visit. Send Tom and Steve in that way so they can get word to Mike about what’s happening. Christian is well-versed on maintaining a knowledge of meetings in the great hall.”

“What about me?” Jensen asks.

Jared takes Jensen’s hand in his, gathering strength from the touch alone. “You stay here.”

“What?” Jensen gapes. “No. Jared, no. I need to be there.”

“You need to stay safe,” Jared counters. “Stay here and do not open the doors.”

Jensen shakes out of Jared’s grasp. “I will not hide. Not when I can be of use.”

Irritation swirls around fear and Jared’s voice is harsher than he intends. “Jensen, you are not actually a weapon made of steel or iron. You are flesh and bone and far too easily hurt.”

“There will be scrying to be done. I will be in the great hall.” Jensen crosses his arms, his stance fairly screaming determination and conviction.

Truly, he would have made a fine knight.

Still, Jared wants Jensen as far away from the keep as possible. “Help the children. Make sure they’re quiet and unafraid.”

“Mike and Kim are more than capable of helping the children. I have to be where I’m needed.”

Inspiration strikes and Jared states, “You are needed here. With your animals. They have not yet been fed today.”

“As you so clearly pointed out earlier, they are well fed and can certainly wait to take their meal.”

The irony in Jensen’s tone is not misplaced.

A cold, choking dread bristles along Jared’s nerves and he draws Jensen near. “I cannot lose you, Jensen,” his voice falters. “I cannot.”

Jensen skims his fingers through Jared’s hair. “You will not lose me, Jared. I have not stayed alive this long by being foolish.”

Jared sighs. “Jensen…”

“Lord Heyerdahl will want the truth sayer there. I can either go when I’m summoned or we can plan how and when I enter the castle to give us better leverage.”

Jared takes a breath, knows when he’s out-maneuvered and can’t help but feel a swell of pride at Jensen’s perseverance and fortitude. His green-eyed truth sayer really is impressive in so many ways.

Jared nods his reluctant assent.

There are four beats of silence as all three men share a look.

Jared breaks the quiet. “By evening, we should know whether we have peace or war.”

***

The great hall seethes with whispers, emotion and body heat when Jared enters after passing through the knight’s quarters for his armor and weapons. He spots Jeffrey Dean instantly.

The older man looks not only perplexed, but worried.

“Perhaps last evening wasn’t the best of times for dalliances in Jensen’s bed,” Jeffrey Dean whispers as Jared slides in line beside him.

“Were we but clairvoyant, I would imagine all of this could be avoided,” Jared quips.

Jeffrey Dean tilts his head in concession. “I trust you have made provisions should this not go our way?”

Jared nods and quietly explains the plan for the villagers.

“Well done, Jared,” Jeffrey Dean praises. “And our truth sayer?”

“He should be arriving through the kitchen at any moment.”

As though summoned by Jared’s words alone, Jensen edges into the great hall as surreptitiously as a feline. No one even takes note.

Lord Heyerdahl’s entrance, on the other hand, brings a charged hush to the room, his colorful cloak swirling at his knees, flanked by his guard, including Hiddletston and Armstrong, equally attired, and Jared has to suppress an eye-roll at the lavish display.

Can’t the man sense the knife blade on which his future rests?

War or peace.

And both are in his hands.

Jared swallows his growing terror.

“Lord Pileggi,” Heyerdahl practically bellows. “You certainly have chosen an early hour for your visit.”

“Indeed, Lord Heyerdahl,” Pileggi states. “I find it the best time to complete one’s aspirations.”

Heyerdahl nods. “And what might your aspirations be, Lord Pileggi?”

“Why, peace, of course.”

Jared’s eyes narrow and something swirls in his blood. His intuition would say Pileggi is sincere, but he doesn’t drop his guard or remove his hand from his sword.

“Oh, of course,” Heyerdahl almost sneers. “In Greenbriar Manor, however, there is no need for guessing. Guards,” Heyerdahl turns. “Send for the truth sayer.”

“I am here, Lord Heyerdahl,” Jensen’s voice carries from across the room.

Jared clenches his teeth. Gods be damned, Jensen was to remain inconspicuous, not throw himself into the fray. With expanding horror, Jared watches as Jensen places himself literally between the two lords.

Jared taps Jeffrey Dean’s arm twice and his friend nods in understanding.

It seems as though it takes far too long for Jared to cross the room, weaving in between the assembled knights, but he must move slowly, must conceal his progress, cannot arouse suspicion in his bid to get closer to Jensen.

An ill feeling has taken root in his stomach that the winds of misfortune are about to blow through Greenbriar Manor.

And he wants to be within arms reach of the truth sayer when they do.

“I have heard of the weapon,” Pileggi states. “It is fortuitous that he is here.”

“Fortuitous only for those who speak the truth,” Heyerdahl counters.

“Indeed,” Pileggi agrees and stretches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, I assure you.”

Jensen shivers only slightly when their skin connects and Jared has to stop himself from charging through the assembled knights to yank Jensen out of the other man’s hold.

“Lord Pileggi,” Heyerdahl starts. “Is it truly peace you seek?”

“It is,” Pileggi says.

“Truth,” Jensen confirms.

“In whatever manner possible?” Heyerdahl asks.

“Not necessarily,” Pileggi says.

“The weapon requires a yes or no answer,” Heyerdahl commands.

“Then, no,” Pileggi assures. “Not in whatever manner possible.”

“True,” Jensen says.

“Do you plan to maintain peace by forcing this manor to your rule?” Heyerdahl wants to know.

“I do not,” Pileggi declares.

“Speak plainly,” Heyerdahl requests, clearly finished with the cat and mouse game. “What are your plans?”

“Maintaining peace is simple,” Pileggi proclaims. “You surrender your weapon to Wharton Manor and my rule and I shall consider our pact ironclad. Your manor and its people will be an ally of Wharton Manor and safe from my armies.”

An audible gasp floats through the great hall and Jared takes the final steps to situate himself an arm’s span behind Jensen, who by now has started visibly trembling.

Jared can hear him whisper, “I c-cannot leave Greenbriar Manor.”

Jared wants to reach out so badly his fingers ache for the contact, just to let Jensen know that he’s there, not lost in the crowd somewhere, but he cannot draw unwanted attention to himself, especially now that’s he’s positioned himself in such an advantageous spot.

The need, though, is almost overwhelming.

“I assure you, you will be well-treated,” Pileggi is speaking directly to Jensen now. “And you will never need fear war for the kingdoms. You, my boy, are the linchpin for peace.”

Jared gets his first glance at Heyerdahl since Pileggi’s edict and the other man fairly vibrates with rage. His countenance grows slowly crimson and three thick veins in his neck throb with his heavily pounding blood.

A new possibility shimmers through Jared’s mind — Heyerdahl might not be merely harmlessly outlandish.

He could be outright mad.

As cautiously as he’s able, Jared removes his dagger from the top of his thigh -- a wicked blade that he keeps sharpened to a keen edge -- and grips it in his left hand. His right pops the hilt of his sword just out of the scabbard — he’s got a deep-seated sense that the ill-fated winds are about to blow.

“You, sir,” Heyerdahl hisses. “Have the audacity of a common troll. How dare you step foot in my domain and make such barbaric demands. You overestimate your ability to sustain your words.”

Pileggi smiles and finally — finally — releases Jensen, causing Jensen to retreat a step, unknowingly even closer to Jared.

“And you, Lord Heyerdahl, as predicted, underestimate my sincerity and hold in the east.” Pileggi attests. "I've seen your garrison, heard word of your numbers. You cannot withstand an attack by my troops. You're a tactician. Even without the use of your weapon, you have to know the truth of this."

If possible, Heyerdahl’s expression becomes even more murderous, but Jared’s attention stays on the two lords for only seconds at a time. His focus is Jensen and his uncomfortable proximity to Heyerdahl, sensing with a precognition he doesn’t question that he will need to reach out very shortly and pull Jensen bodily from the conflict.

But the timing will have to be exactly right.

“Lord Heyerdahl,” Pileggi’s tone is that of placation. “All I ask is possession of the weapon. You may keep your lands, your people, your riches, all of your supplies and provisions. Surely that is more than fair. Peace between us for the acquisition of one man. You would truly lose nothing, for with Wharton Manor as your ally, the weapon’s knowledge would also be yours.”

Jared’s stomach tightens when he swears he hears Jensen whimper.

Seconds tick by, marked by nothing more than the irregular breaths sawing in and out of Lord Heyerdahl's throat. Eventually, he speaks, the modulation in his voice that of a man about to come unhinged. "It seems to me, Lord Pileggi," and even Jared knows Heyerdahl is trying for a nonchalance that's nowhere near convincing, "that there's a very simple solution to our perceived dilemma."

With an utterly unnecessary flourish, Heyerdahl sweeps his cloak away from his body, and places his hands on his hips in the manner of one prepared to address a formal gathering. "I believe the peace which you seek is within our grasp."

Pileggi grins, "Indeed, sir."

Heyerdahl nods solemnly. "From the details you have laid out it would appear the only contention between us is ownership of the weapon."

Jared's heart skips a beat in his chest.

"I assure you, there is no need for contention," Pileggi soothes. "I believe you know the only true course of action to be taken."

Heyerdahl inhales. "I do, sir," he pivots, only slightly, to address the great hall and his words seem excessive both in volume and pretentiousness, "people of Greenbriar Manor, it is with deep regret that I must inform you of the price of peace in the kingdoms.”

Murmurs skitter through the room, but Jared doesn’t glance behind himself even for a second to see the reactions. Over the beat of his own heart, Jared hears Jensen’s panicked chant of no no no no no no.

“Fear not,” Heyerdahl continues, in a voice heavy with rage. “for I pledge to you, the loss will be felt by both sides.”

Jared slides his right foot slightly behind his left, prepared to push off from the balls of his feet, muscles drawn up tight.

“Because if I cannot own the weapon,” and by now Heyerdahl’s eyes gleam with true insanity. “No one can!”

Jared truly does not know where Heyerdahl keeps the knife, but the blade flashes even in the muted light of the great hall and it’s the only warning Jared gets.

Time tilts and seems to slow.

Jared shouts Jensen’s name seconds before screams erupt around them. Heyerdahl lunges forward, tip of the blade poised to slot neatly between Jensen’s ribs.

Jensen parries back — just like Jared taught him and even in the cacophonous riot of emotions, Jared feels a swell of pride. He lets go of his sword and grabs Jensen’s bicep, yanking him further away from Heyerdahl.

The combined momentum manages to skew Heyerdahl’s aim, but the knife still connects, slicing a bloody path all along Jensen’s side.

Jared literally sees red and reacts, born from years of instincts living on the streets — protectprotectprotect what’s his — and the devastating need to keep Jensen safe. He dives forward, lethal dagger still gripped in his left hand and shoves as hard as he can, past muscle and sinew and even bone, jams the blade hilt-deep into Heyerdahl’s chest, just under the breastbone, angled up to target the heart.

Jared knows he hit the mark when Heyerdahl, wide-eyed and shocked, goes to speak and he’s only able to sputter blood, copper liquid spilling down his chin and throat. The dagger remains lodged in Heyerdahl’s chest and Jared releases the hilt.

The sounds of swords being drawn echo throughout the great hall and Heyerdahl’s guards step forward, flanking their dying lord, revenge glistening in their eyes.

Jared drags his own sword out of the scabbard, almost as an afterthought, and holds it up, parallel to the floor as the only means of protection he’s got, wishing he hadn’t left his shield in the knight’s quarters.

A whisper from somewhere in the crowd reaches his ears: Jared the Brave saved Jensen the True.

He turns to help Jensen and finds Misha, Jeffrey Dean, Tom, Steve, Christian, Kim, Genevieve and Mike surrounding Jensen like an armada — all with varying weapons at the ready.

Jared drops to his knees and practically crawls to Jensen, who’s on the floor, holding his side, whispering, “Jared, no…”

“Jensen…how bad is it?” Jared asks as he senses Jeffrey Dean and a few other knights — Chris, Ty, Tahmoh — moving around Jared, providing a human wall.

Misha’s on Jensen’s left, holding the wound with his hand, trying to stem the flow of blood. “I haven’t been able to tell yet,” Misha’s voice holds an exasperation that’s new even for him. “His only intent is getting to you.”

Jared grabs Jensen’s flailing, bloody hand. “I’m here, Jensen. I’m here.”

“Jared, no,” Jensen murmurs. “You can’t do this. You shouldn’t do this. Not for me…”

Jared smiles, despite the choking fear. “I believe we’ve had this discussion before, green eyes, and you know how I have no time for redundancy.”

Jensen squeezes Jared’s fingers and chuckles softly.

Jared leans down to connect their foreheads. “Besides, the point is fairly moot. It’s already done.”

With Jensen more complacent, Misha’s able to inspect the wound and determine that despite the blood, it’s actually a remarkably shallow cut. “With the proper care, he will heal nicely.”

Jared exhales raggedly, the grip of dread easing a bit and it’s only then that he hears the heated words from behind him.

“I demand atonement,” Hiddleston fairly bellows. “An act such as this cannot go unpunished.”

Jared risks placing a kiss on Jensen’s forehead and he stands to face the aftermath of Heyerdahl’s death.

Pileggi’s guard have swords drawn and at the ready but stand still as statues, held back seemingly by nothing more than the outstretched hand of their ruler, whose intent brown-eyed stare misses nothing of the exchange.

“Jared was merely defending Jensen,” Jeffrey Dean contends. “Heyerdahl attacked first. There’s no need for vengeance or retribution.”

“The lord of this manor is dead at his hands,” Hiddleston hisses, jabbing a finger at Jared. “How dare you imply nothing should be done about it!”

"Jared was protecting a member of this manor," Jeffrey Dean counters. "A knight's code requires it, regardless of the persecutor."

“I demand a challenge," Hiddleston insists. "To the death."  
“Jared, no, you can’t,” Jensen gasps, attempting to sit up, despite Misha’s protests.

Jared glances back to find Misha and Christian both struggling to bind Jensen’s wound and he leans down again. “Jensen, fear not. All will be fine.”

“Jared, please,” Jensen begs, voice nearly shattered. “I cannot watch you die.”

“Such faith in me, green eyes,” Jared’s grin threatens to topple, for despite his bravado, he knows the threat in Hiddleston. “I have no plan to die today.”

With a stutter in his heart, Jared leans down and connects their lips for a fierce kiss in front of the knights, villagers, and all the gods, not caring in the slightest about his public display.

Hiddleston chuckles blackly. “So, the rumors are true I see.”

Jared pulls back with a final swipe of his thumb across Jensen’s chin, and pivots while lifting his sword. Face to face with Hiddleston’s dark eyes and disdainful sneer actually bolsters Jared’s confidence.

He will not let anyone question what he and Jensen have found with each other, whether they understand it or not.

Hiddleston grins, “It seems your blood will adorn my sword, yet, boy.”

“You allow your mouth to over-reach your sword arm,” Jared counters.

With a great yell, Hiddleston attacks. Emotion and haste make the move sloppy and Jared parries easily.

And sees with a decades-old intuition his road to victory — this will be a mental game more than physical.

“You always have lacked control,” Jared continues, over the clash of their swords. “Truly, one would think the lesson would have been learned by now.”

“How dare you mock me, boy! I am a member of the lord’s guard and befitted with the colors of this manor!” Hiddleston rages and swings out with a careless arch, allowing Jared to duck beneath the other man’s overextended arm and deliver a shove with his free hand.

Hiddleston stumbles back three steps.

Jared wants to punch, but he knows the chain-mail could easily break a finger.

“I care not about what you wear, Hiddleston,” Jared keeps at it in a tone that’s deeply derisive. “You show such concern with your outfittings, one would wonder if you’re more woman beneath your trousers than man.”

Hiddleston bellows, “T’is lunacy to question my masculinity when you willingly lie with another man like a whore in heat!”

Jared’s chuckle is pure ridicule, “I assure you there is no lack of masculinity between Jensen and I.”

“Spare me your foul reminiscences,” Hiddleston spits as he lunges forward again.

Their swords clang together in a steady rhythm as Hiddleston continues to attack ruthlessly and Jared catches each blow seconds before it can cause damage.

Jared pushes back again, and the two square off, circling each other, allowing Jared to make one last verbal spar, “Indeed, Hiddleston, I would imagine there’s far more pleasure between two men than you could ever successfully bring to a woman.”

Jared swears for a split second, Hiddleston’s eyes glare completely black and when he charges forward this time, Jared dodges with his whole body, throwing Hiddleston’s balance completely off and it takes very little — nothing more than a flick of Jared’s foot — to land Hiddleston on the stone floor in a heap of armor and colorful fabric.

Jared’s quick to place the tip of his sword under Hiddleston’s neck.

Hiddleston’s swears and seethes, but he doesn’t move to sit up.

“Thomas Hiddleston,” Jared begins. “I bid you take your leave of Greenbriar Manor and never darken the door to this keep again. If I have your word as a knight that your presence will never again grace these halls, you may leave unharmed.”

There are three breathless moments where no one moves.

Jared knows Hiddleston’s blood is his right, but he prefers not to take it unless necessary to save another’s.

Hiddleston nods as much as Jared’s sword allows.

Jared acquiesces and stands back. “You’ll be gone within the hour.”

Hiddleston’s jaw clenches and he says nothing.

Jared turns to find Jensen fully bandaged and bloodflow quelled. He smiles and reaches out only to be stopped by the sharp horror that flicks through Jensen’s eyes.

It’s only Jensen’s yell and his frantic gesture that gives Jared the warning he needs.

Jared spins around, sword pointed to torso height and finds Hiddleston an arm-span away mid-thrust with a wicked looking dagger.

The tip of Jared’s sword catches on a hole in Hiddleston’s chain-mail and slices both the metal and Hiddleton’s chest wide open, bringing blood and body to the hilt of Jared’s weapon.

For the space of a few breaths, all that can be heard are the gurgles as Hiddleston struggles for air through the blood in his throat.

Using most of his body weight, Jared shoulders Hiddleston’s slumped form and heaves him to the ground, sword sliding out with a wet noise.

Jared takes deep, measured breaths and turns to face the people of the keep as he reaches for a rag to wipe the blood off his sword, not wanting to seem indifferent, but needing to keep the steel free from rust and corrosion.

He looks to Jeffrey Dean and finds respect in his friend’s expression.  
Jeffrey Dean’s voice rises above the murmurs of the crowd, “Jared has proven himself strong, fair and wise. As Lord Heyerdahl had no immediate heirs, I propose Jared immediately be instated as the lord of Greenbriar Manor and suggest we send word of this morning’s events to King Richling.”

Rumbles of assent sprinkle through the room like raindrops.

Jared’s jaw falls open and his free hand covers his heart. “Jeffrey Dean…”

“You can do this,” Jeffrey Dean attests. “You were practically born for it, Jared. I’ve seen it throughout the years. Greenbriar Manor should be yours.”

Misha nods and Christian echoes hear hear.

Indeed, as Jared glances around, he finds nothing but support.

At least until he faces Armstrong.

Armstrong’s smile isn’t inviting in the least. “If it’s my loyalty you wish to determine, there’s a very simple way,” Armstrong nods at Jensen and ice congeals in Jared’s stomach. "You have a weapon, Lord Jared," Armstrong's disdain leaks from the words. "Surely you won't be too meek to use it."

Jared inhales, knowing this is the precipice on which the future stands. "The weapon of which you speak is a man, not a sword or knife. Henceforth, he will be treated as a man, not a weapon. Jensen the True will no longer be called upon to use his abilities. The fealty of the people of Greenbriar Manor will be based on their deeds and words alone."

He can hear the hum behind him as the decree spreads through the great hall.

Armstrong’s eyes narrow and gleam with what Jared can only call deliberate cunning and an unease curls along Jared’s arms. He knows the risk inherent in any keep. Treason and treachery abound in the world and since Jensen's abilities had been discovered, Heyerdahl had used them to the advantage of the manor.

But other kingdoms have survived without such resources. Greenbriar Manor will as well.

Anything to keep Jensen from feeling used ever again.

Jensen steps to Jared's left side, safe from the sharp edge of his sword and glides his fingers into Jared's palm, threading them together. Jared turns his eyes to Jensen with a soft smile and a squeeze of his hand, glad to stand side-by-side in solidarity, kinship, partnership. He wants the keep -- even all the the kingdoms in the world if he could manage it -- to never doubt his devotion, allegiance and outright dedication to Jensen.

Without warning, Jensen takes a sliding step forward and grabs Armstrong's bare wrist in his free hand and somehow, just as it had in the bailey not a fortnight ago, a feeling, very much not his own, scurries up Jared's arm.

Both Jared and Jensen quiver slightly from the connection, as they both are able to sense Armstrong's intentions.

Jensen’s voice holds the strength of ten armies, despite his injuries, and carries throughout the great hall when he asks, “Curtis Armstrong, do you swear allegiance to Lord Jared and all his people? Do you vow to protect the lord and this village for all of your days spent within its walls?”

Jared tenses his hold, "Jensen, no…you no longer need to…"

"It's not ill treatment if it's freely given, Jared," Jensen murmurs with a smile. His expression, when he turns back to Armstrong, becomes as steel-like as the weapon he'd been called for most of his life. "The question requires an answer."

Armstrong rolls his eyes, but capitulates, “I will.”

A certainty, unlike any Jared has ever known, save his adoration of Jensen, shimmies through his chest, and he opens his mouth -- couldn't stop the impulse if he wanted -- and hands down the verdict. “False.”

All eyes, including Jensen’s, turn to him, shock showing on their expressions.

Jared knows it’s true to the very core of him, without question. He can sense the power, the knowledge through his hand locked with Jensen’s. “I can feel the truth through you.”

The great hall is quiet for two heartbeats.

No one knows who starts the whisper, but the two words send a tangible tremor through all who stand within the stone walls.

 _The prophecy_.

“Curtis Armstrong, I cast you out of Greenbriar Manor, for I have personally felt your unfaithfulness,” Jared states. “Let it be known that your presence within these walls, unless granted with my express permission, will be perceived as a threat and treated as such. You have until the midday meal to be gone.”

Jared’s sword twitches in his right hand. “Do not go for a weapon, Armstrong. I dislike the thought of spilling any more blood this day.”

Armstrong yanks out of Jensen’s grasp and slinks out of the hall.

_Truth and Valor have come together._

Jared rubs a thumb against Jensen’s hand and the two share a stunned smile.

Lord Pileggi steps forward in the hush and with a flick of his wrists, his knights, still frozen in readiness, stand down. “I anticipated a much different outcome this morning,” he admits.

Jared does not release Jensen’s hand.

“From the time when I was only a boy, my parents had told of a prophecy,” Pileggi continues with a rueful smile. “In the first years of my rule, I had aspirations that the prophecy might be about me,” he shakes his head, “I see now that I was wrong.”

In the silence, Lord Pileggi, wearing the colors of his manor and dressed to befit a true nobleman, lowers himself to one knee.

Jared and Jensen gasp softly in unison.

“It is with real honor that I kneel before you both,” Pileggi’s voice carries. “Lord Jared, I hope that you can accept my vow of peace as I accept you as true lord of Greenbriar Manor.”

Jared stands for a moment, listening to the whispers around him.

_Praise the gods._

_The prophecy has come to pass._

_The kingdoms will be united._

_Peace has been assured_.

Jared slips his sword back into his scabbard one handed and he brings Jensen along with him as he steps forward. “Please rise Lord Pileggi, for there will be no need for such demonstrations in Greenbriar Manor.”

Pileggi stands and nods.

Jared holds out his free hand. “It’s with great respect that I accept your offer of peace between the kingdoms. As I also hope you can understand that Jensen and I will rule Greenbriar Manor together and those that cannot accept that are not welcome within these walls.”

Pileggi steps forward and takes Jared’s hand, “Understood and accepted Lord Jared,” he turns his head, “Jensen.”

Even though Jensen isn’t the one in contact with Pileggi, Jared can still sense the truth of his words. He wonders absently if he and Jensen can share the ability as long as they’re touching.

It’s a humbling and enticing thought.

Lord Pileggi declines the offer to feast with Greenbriar Manor and instead makes haste back to Wharton with assurances that the peaceful alliance between them will be maintained.

The knights scrub the great hall and give Heyerdahl and Hiddleston a respectful funeral pyre in the south end of the bailey, as per Jared’s request.

The evening’s celebration is moved outside so the entire village can partake of the festivities and food.

The mood is jovial, to say the least.

Despite his newfound title, Jared cannot bring himself to take up residence in Heyerdahl’s chamber and instead, avails himself of Jensen’s feather mattress.

As Jared slides between the linens, Jensen whispers, “Lord Jared, shouldn’t you repose in the castle? It’s unseemly and unsafe for the Lord of the manor to sleep in the stable.”

Jared’s not surprised to find Talon nestled under the linen next to Jensen and can’t suppress a grin at the expression of feline satisfaction. “Since this is where my ruling partner rests, this is where I shall be.”

Jensen shakes his head, but reaches for Jared’s skin. “I cannot believe you said that…did that…in front of all to see.”

“Hmm,” Jared hums, curling himself around Talon so he can nuzzle against Jensen’s neck. “As you can see, no one took umbrage with the declaration. Greenbriar Manor is ours if you would do me the honor of ruling alongside me.”

Jensen palms Jared’s cheek. “Can this be real?”

Jared pulls back for a quick kiss. “It is real, green eyes. Feel the truth of the statement.”

Jensen’s smile is brighter than the sun on a summer’s day.

Talon stretches between them, reaching a paw up the mattress and hooking a claw into the linen.

Jared chuckles, “He proves his name every day, does he not?”

Jensen rubs his hand along Talon’s back and murmurs his agreement.

Jared brushes his lips back and forth against Jensen’s forehead in the silence.

Jensen transfers his petting to Jared and whispers, “It feels like a dream, Jared.”

“My beautiful, green eyed truth sayer,” Jared vows. “Say yes to ruling with me and I promise it will come true.”

Jensen looks up from his measured touches and makes eye contact. The soft word formed from Jensen’s sweet, kissable lips may be the best thing Jared’s ever heard.

_Yes._

***

Greenbriar Manor flourishes under Jared and Jensen’s rule.

While Jared is technically the lord, no one is made to feel superior over another and all who live there work together to make sure the village prospers.

Some knights have chosen to remain in the castle, while others, like Jeffrey Dean, have built cottages in the bailey. Indeed, Jeffrey Dean’s wedding ceremony to Kim was quite a celebration and the two constructed a quaint place along the eastern wall of the manor.

Genevieve spends her days fighting with Misha over her ability to continue her chores with her rounded belly, despite the fact that she has sworn to her husband she has seen the future and their children are robust, happy and healthy.

It’s nearly as entertaining as the plays the children put on.

Christian grumbles about the extra work he has since the food is spread evenly between all members of the village and his kitchen is busy from dawn to dusk, making sure no one within the walls is ever hungry.

But he smiles when he sends the little ones off with loaves of bread for their families, so it’s clear the gruff exterior is all for show.

Jared and Jensen do, eventually move into the castle, but they choose a different floor from Heyerdahl’s as their bed chamber.

Jensen rises each morning to care for the animals and continues to gather his herbs and roots for tonics and ointments for the villagers. He helps with childbirth and wedding preparations and yearly illnesses that blow through the keep.

He’s even brought knowledge of his herbal remedies to Wharton Manor and there’s been talk of King Richings coming to discuss the advantages of his tonics.

Jared has settled into his title with the same aplomb he has faced every adventure of his life and despite his early years of wanderlust, he cannot imagine a life outside the walls of Greenbriar Manor.

He has a hand in virtually every happening from construction of homes to extending the walls as the village grows to collecting herbs.

The children of Greenbriar Manor learn love, tolerance, fairness and equality. They learn to respect others not because of a title, but in how their actions define their words.

And a few seasons after the demise of Heyerdahl and his guard, a tiny cry is heard from deep in the forest as Jensen is collecting his late fall herbs.

It’s a small baby wrapped in nothing more than a linen cloth, looking at Jensen with the purest, deepest emerald eyes he has ever seen.

As Jensen gathers the orphaned infant in his arms, he feels a connection, an alliance, a kinship with the child as soon as their skin touches.

If at first, he misses the way the leaves look greener when grasped in the baby’s hand, or the flowers seem to bloom a bit more fully where the babe has lain, well…Jensen is distracted.

There was no way he could have known the true secrets of Greenbriar Manor.

After all, the prophecy was only the beginning…

~ end


End file.
